


The Heavy Weight of Duty

by adelaide_rain



Series: Weights and Measures [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Collars, Courtesans and kings, Lots of Angst, M/M, Magic, Secrets and politics, Torture, and whump, there's also kidnap, traumatising Jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 227,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is the youngest prince of the moon kingdom, and it's a good life. All the important roles are filled by his older brothers and sister so he spends his days having fun with his friends. </p><p>And then one day his father tells him that it is time to do his duty as a prince. A peace treaty has been drawn up with the land of shadows, and Jack is to be an integral part of that.  </p><p>He is to be given to the Nightmare King as a courtesan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“We should wait until night,” Jamie says, biting his lip. They’re lying on their stomachs on the roof of the library, leaning over the edge. It’s one of the highest points in the city of Lunanoff and everything stretches out before them, cream and clean and sparkling in the sunlight. Jack grins at him and bumps their shoulders together.

“There’s no such thing as _night_ , Jamie,” he says, doing a rather good impression of Mr Garrett, their least favourite teacher. “Lunanoff’s position near the north pole of the moon means that it does not have _night_ , rather-”

“You know what I mean,” Jamie says, rolling his eyes. “We should wait for dark. We’re going to get caught again.”

“I’m a prince, Jamie, what are they going to do to me?”

“You’re a prince but what about me?”

“It’ll be _fine_.” 

“Jack, I can’t get in trouble again. I’m supposed to be starting work with Councillor Marek next month.”

Jack frowns over at him; Jamie’s not usually the type to worry about a little telling off. He should know that Jack would never let anything happen to him. They’re best friends, and though Jack might get him in trouble he always gets him out of it too.

Maybe he’s just nervous; maybe he just needs a nudge. 

Jack stands, shielding his eyes against the sun and after taking a deep breath, starts to run, getting up enough speed to leap onto the roof of the next building over, the city hall. He makes it easily, grinning as he hears a gasp below as someone spots him: they already have an audience. Turning, he sees Jamie pause and then get to his feet. He’s not as graceful as Jack but he’s capable, and he lands heavily by Jack’s side.

He looks at Jack, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. “If we get caught you have to stick up for me.”

“Of course,” Jack says with a laugh and walks to the edge of the roof, where it pushes up against the dome. Mr Garrett has given them many a lecture on the Dome; that it was built centuries ago, back before the Great War, when the city on the moon was just a summer retreat. He has told them who built it, with many complex spells that make it possible for them to live here, regulating air and a hundred other things that Jack never pays attention to. 

The important thing for Jack’s plan is that the magic of the dome interacts with a person’s magical aura, creating a lightshow for all the city to see. As Jack steps closer it starts to flicker white and blue. Each step makes the colours brighter, bigger, and when he touches it they leap up, stretching toward the top of the dome. More cries from the streets below, a smattering of applause for the show they know is about to happen.

Jamie takes his place beside Jack, putting a hand to the Dome. While his own aura is nowhere near as strong as Jack’s, the purples and golds of his magic flicker brightly.

“Let’s go,” Jack says, and leads the way, running along the roof and leaping onto the next one. The light of their magic streams behind them and he can hear the yells and cries – mostly of appreciation – as the crowd gathers below. They have to leave the roof at one point when the distance is too far to jump, but they’ve done this before. Slide down one column, race up the hand-and-footholds provided by the decorative brickwork of the next building, and they’re back on the roof before the colours have even faded.

As they run Jack feels light, buoyed by the laughter and applause from below. Jamie laughs too and Jack looks over his shoulder to grin at him. There’s nothing better than this, having fun with his best friend and giving the people of Lunanoff something to smile at – this is what life is all about, not classes and endless lectures about etiquette.

And then there’s an explosion of sparks in front of him, green and yellow, as something hits the Dome. They skid to a stop. Only one person has magic the colour of springtime and it means their fun is over.

“Go,” Jack whispers to Jamie, who nods and runs to the edge of the roof and clambers over the side. Jack pauses before turning to greet the owner of the spring magic. It’s lucky, really – Bunny is Jack’s brother, nearest to him in age. However irascible he can be, he’s not the type to go ballistic about things unless they affect him personally.

 _Just as well he caught us before we got to the hydroponic gardens,_ Jack thinks, biting down on the smile that wants to dance over his lips.

He turns to grin a greeting at Bunny, but the words die on his lips when he sees that Bunny is dressed formally, his green overcoat marking his position as head botanist, gleaming brass buttons and epaulettes making him look very grand. Jack can’t even remember the last time he saw Bunny so formal. What’s this about?

“Bit dressed up for stopping mischief, Bunny.”

“It’s not about that,” Bunny says softly. He meets Jack’s eyes for a moment but then looks away. This isn’t like Bunny at all and Jack frowns. 

“Then what is it about?” 

“Father will tell you that himself.”

“Father…?” Now Jack is even more confused. Their father has little to do with his children – little to do with anyone. He stays in his private rooms, distant and aloof when he emerges. Things were different before the queen died, it is said, but Jack wouldn’t know; she died giving birth to him, something his father always manages to mention on the rare occasions they see each other. Jack’s good mood evaporates.

With a tap of his foot, Bunny creates a portal and gestures Jack through it. Jack gazes at it for a moment, then back at Bunny. He opens his mouth to ask another question then sighs. Bunny is one of the most stubborn people Jack knows and if he’s decided he’s not going to talk then there is no point in badgering him about it. Giving him one last frown, Jack steps into the portal. The journey through it is a twisting-turning slide of pure green, and it whisks away some of his annoyance. 

On the other side Jack finds himself in the palace, somewhere in the East Wing. He looks around curiously. Long years have passed since Jack explored this part of the palace. The rooms of governance are here, which sound intriguing and political but are deadly dull, as are the men of his father’s council. Old and dusty, every one of them.

Deeper in the wing are his father’s personal quarters, and the ghost of Jack’s mother is everywhere. It has become a shrine to her, statues in every nook and portraits on every wall. Jack hates it. Grief fills the air, stagnant and choking, and Jack always feels the crushing weight of guilt and blame most keenly there.

Thankfully they don’t head that far. They stop outside an elegantly carved set of double doors, and Jack’s interest is piqued. The War Room. The one place he has never managed to break into. Protected by centuries of spells and guarded day and night, it is the most impenetrable place in the palace, probably in the whole city. Behind his interest is confusion; why has he been brought here?

“Bunny-”

“Don't ask, Jack. Father will explain everything.” He pauses and then reaches over, squeezing Jack's shoulder. His eyes are sad and Jack stares, confused and frustrated at being told nothing, and a little fear is starting to seep in as well. 

Bunny steps forward to put his hands on the doors, and the guards standing before them step aside, spears standing to attention. He swings open the doors and gestures for Jack to enter; after a moment of hesitation, Jack does. 

His father sits behind a large desk, fingers steepled. He watches Jack with pale eyes but doesn't speak. By his side is Benard, his chief councillor. Jack is surprised to see that Ben is dressed formally as well, his military uniform adorned with medals. Ben has always been a part of Jack's life, he's like family, and not once before has he seen Ben dressed like this. Comfortable robes and tunics are his usual garb, and it is strange to see the transformation. He stands straighter, seems bigger and stronger; it’s as if possessed by the shade of his younger self.

But then he smiles, Ben's usual friendly smile, and the illusion is shattered. 

“Jack! Come in. Take a seat.”

Jack steps forward and the doors close behind him; Bunny doesn't follow him in. He glances around the room, curiosity warring with wariness. Everywhere are remnants of the world as it was centuries ago, before the Great War. One wall is covered in a map of the old world, each country marked out in a different metal. There is a model of their palace down on the planet that Jack recognises only from history books. It’s huge compared to the one on the moon but it must be dust now, Jack thinks, destroyed by war and time. 

“Sit, sit,” Ben says with a thread of impatience in his voice, coming over to Jack and guiding him to a chair. 

Jack sits and looks up at Ben, at his father. “So is someone going to tell me what's going on?”

“Jackson,” his father says softly, frowning at Jack as though he barely recognises him. “Look at you. All grown up. You look so like your mother.”

Vicious words leap to Jack's tongue and he clenches his jaw before they can escape. It does no good to bait his father with anger - it only makes him retreat further. Instead he sits perfectly still, unresponsive, waiting for someone to explain things. 

The silence stretches out and with each passing second, the tension in the room grows thicker. Finally, Ben speaks. 

“Your father is right, Jack. You're grown up now. Just look at you.”

“You saw me yesterday, Ben. Pretty sure I've not grown since then.”

Ben gives a soft laugh and nods. “Quite right. Well. I know you must be wondering why you're here.”

“You could say that.”

“It's why we remark on you being grown up,” his father says, voice cool and distant. “It's time for you to do your duty as a prince. To put away your childish games and diversions.”

“You know we are at war with Umbra,” Ben says before Jack can speak his annoyance with his father's attitude. 

“Of course,” Jack says, as Ben goes over to the map and taps on Umbra, the country marked out in a dark metal. “But they're on the planet, we're up here on the moon. They don't have mages like ours so they can't get to us. It's not really a war.” 

“They can't get up here, but we need to go down to the planet,” Ben says. “And if we are at war with Umbra that makes things difficult.”

“Why do we need to go down to the planet?”

“Because of the water, Jack. We don't have any.”

Jack frowns. “I don't understand - we've had the processing factory for years-”

Ben sighs and sits down heavily opposite Jack. “It's a ruse. A little white lie to keep the people feeling safe. The only water is down on the planet, and there's little enough there that isn't tainted. It's a precious resource, and we need something equally precious to trade for it. That's where you come in.”

“Me?”

Ben pauses, walks to the other side of the room, drumming his fingers on his round belly. “The Great Council has been deliberating for months: what do we have that King Pitch might want? We have few resources, nothing that he couldn't get down on the planet. But we have you.”

“I'm not following.” Suspicion creeps over Jack but he's sure he must be wrong, Ben can't possibly be suggesting what it sounds like he's suggesting. 

“Well, the king will want a wife, of course, to give him heirs, so marriage is out of the question. Not to mention that it would be a grievous insult to offer the youngest child in any case-”

“Hey!” The indignant response is automatic. The rest of him is slowly realising that the more Ben speaks, the more it sounds like Jack's ridiculous suspicions might not be so ridiculous. 

“But to give a prince as a courtesan - that would be a great offering.”

And there it is, out in the open, stated clearly. Even so, Jack cannot believe it. They can't be seriously suggesting that they want to offer him to the Nightmare King as a courtesan. There must be a misunderstanding, or-

“You are a virgin, of course?”

Jack gets to his feet, outraged and horrified, the truth of his situation hitting him like a punch to the face. “You can't do this,” he whispers, then looks over at his father, pleading. “I'm your _son_.”

“You are my son,” his father says quietly. “You are a prince, and it is your duty to protect the people of Lunanoff. If we go to the planet, Umbra's armies will attack - and we must go to the planet.”

“Part of the treaty guarantees the water that we need to survive, Jack. No more dangerous trips planetside! Because of your sacrifice, Lunanoff will be safe.” 

“I don't want to be sacrificed-”

“When we first suggested it to Pitch, he was wary at first - but then we showed him your portrait he agreed quickly enough after that,” Ben says with a chuckle, and Jack can only stare at him. He is suggesting that Jack give up his freedom and work in Pitch's pleasure houses in much the same tone that he would plan a feast. 

Jack steps back, the unreality of the moment crashing into his growing realisation that this is truly happening. “You can't do this!”

“It’s for the good of the people. It is your duty as a prince,” his father says. “Think of the lives you'll save!”

“If it's my duty as a prince,” Jack says, glaring up at him. “I'm not the only prince. Why me?”

His father barely pauses before answering. “Because you are the least important.”

Jack stares up at him. That much is obvious from the way he has been treated all of his life, but to hear it stated so boldly... He feels tears well in his eyes and clenches his jaw. He will not cry.

“Take him to the priests,” his father says, turning away and going back to his seat. “The mages say that the best time for the bridge will be tomorrow, in the early evening. He must be cleansed and prepared by then.”

“Come, Jack,” Ben says, pulling on his arm. “Let us get out of here.”

===

As he is led to the temple, Jack considers running, but where would he go? Besides, he feels heavy, so heavy, and it is difficult to pick up his feet and follow Ben. He tries to think things through but his thoughts are as sluggish as his steps. Whenever he tries to think things through, his mind hits a wall of disbelief. 

All he can think is that his father chose to do this to him - _we suggested this to Pitch_ , Ben said. Not that Pitch asked for Jack – his father _offered_ Jack as a sacrifice. That is so much worse that Jack’s mind can barely grasp it, shying away from the horrific truth.

The temple is one of the grandest buildings in Lunanoff, second only to the palace. Gold leaf and ornate paintings cover every wall and the windows are so covered in coloured glass that the outside can barely be seen and the interior is a wash of colours. 

One of the aides steps forward, covered in a long, embroidered robe from head to toe. Only their eyes are showing, pale blue with long lashes. They reach out a hand to take Jack’s, and lead him to a door that Jack has never been through before. 

“What’s happening?” Jack asks, and tries to pull his hand away, but the aide is strong. “What are going to do to me?”

The aide doesn’t answer; they are forbidden to speak other than during rites. Jack turns to Ben, to put the question to him, but when he sees Ben smiling at him like a proud parent he can only stare. Can he not see how afraid Jack is? Does he not care? The aide clears their throat to get Jack’s attention, tugging on his hand. 

He lets himself be pulled through to the inner sanctum, where the walls are so densely packed with painted icons that Jack feels dizzy, or perhaps that’s the incense that seems to cloud his mind and blur his thoughts. It does nothing to numb the fear and confusion, but his thoughts are slow and his body feels so heavy; he couldn’t run even if he wanted to. 

Two more aides step into the room and undress him, and other than a muffled _Hey,_ Jack can do nothing to stop them. He feels embarrassed and vulnerable in his nakedness, especially when more aides step into the room, seven of them all together, and start to circle him, chanting low and resonant. 

There are more rituals: he is dragged naked to the next room where oil is poured over him and sand rubbed into his skin, to the next where he is given a bitter brew that makes him dizzy, and finally he is forced to his knees as a circle of candles are lit around him. 

“Help me,” he whispers - to the aides, to the gods, to anyone, but no-one answers. This room too is thick with the sweet smoke, and he can do nothing to help himself. The incense does strange things to time and it feels like he is there for moments, for hours, both and neither. And then he is being dragged to his feet, washed with cold water that does a little to wake him from the drug-induced stupor – for that is what the incense is, he’s sure of it – but not enough for him to run. 

And then he is pushed into a room so small that he cannot stand, that he has to get onto his knees. The heavy door is locked behind him with an ominous thud.

This can't be happening, he thinks again, but he knows it is. He tries to consider it as Ben said - he'll be bringing about peace, saving lives.

But all he can think of is his father's courtesans, beautiful women who never smile, who open their legs on his father's command. Perhaps it is not a bad life - they live in luxury, they want for nothing. It is a religious calling and they see it as serving the gods, but they _chose_ that life.

Jack has no such choice.

And though he never answered Ben's question, he is a virgin. He's never done anything more than pleasure Jamie with his hand. What does he know about being a courtesan?

And then there is Pitch's nickname, the Nightmare King - he is said to be cruel, a tyrant and a torturer.

Think of the lives you'll save, Jack tries to say to himself.

“But what about _my_ life?”

At last, Jack allows himself to cry.

===

The next morning Jack is pulled out of the room after a night of broken sleep. He is exhausted and every limb is stiff, but he is given no time to recover. He is wrapped in a simple white robe and dragged across the city by the aides and a contingent of temple guards, leaving a whispering crowd in his wake. 

He is taken to the dressing rooms of the palace, usually bustling with men and women wanting to be made beautiful, but today the place is deserted. 

Jack sits without moving as he is dressed and made-up, as needles are pushed through his ears and lips so that he can be adorned with jewellery.

He feels numb and repeats his father’s words over and over in his mind:

_It’s for the good of the people._

_It’s your duty as a prince._

_Think of all the lives you’ll save._

And then scrabbing-screaming thoughts break into his numbness, _but I’ll be a slave, a courtesan, to the Nightmare King_ -

It’s for the good of the people.

It’s your duty as a prince.

Think of all the lives you’ll save.

Finally the dressers finish, and they pull him to his feet. The clothes feel strange, nothing like he would normally wear; heavy layers of embroidered fabrics, thick with gold thread and beads. Ornate yet easy to remove. Not made for racing across rooftops or climbing buildings, but -

Jack stops himself, taking a shaky breath and clenching his fists.

The dressers lead him to the door, sighing over how lovely he looks, and with every move his new outfit is a chorus of mocking chimes from the jewellery, cruel whispers of his robe brushing against the floor.

Outside wait six guards, spears in their hands and swords at their sides. An honour guard, supposedly, here to protect the Moon Kingdom’s youngest prince, but Jack knows that their real purpose is to stop him escaping.

They surround him and they begin their journey to the dock. Jack is blind to the grandeur of the palace. This may be the last time he sees his home but he can’t seem to lift his head. All he can do is look down at the marble floor and the knotted leather of his sandals. The effort of pushing down the choking despair weighs heavily on his shoulders.

He blinks as they step outside into the eternal sunshine, and looks out onto the plaza in front of the palace. The king’s court has gathered to watch the procession, and they whisper behind fans as Jack is nudged down the steps. As he passes them, almost-strangers and supposed-friends alike, no-one makes a move to help him. One woman, a friend of Bunny’s, throws a flower to him. It is deftly caught by one of the guards, crushed in his huge hand, and whatever words were on the woman’s lips wither and die.

The rest of the journey continues without mishap and they arrive at the dock in less than an hour.

It is normally used to send warriors down to the planet below, and Jack has only been here once or twice, always finding it grand but boring. Now he looks at it with wide eyes. The fear is growing in him, eating away at his insides, wrapping around his throat like vines.

The guards bring him to the platform that dominates the space. A canvas cabana stands at one side and a magic circle covers the other, surrounded by chanting mages. 

His family stands beside the cabana. Each of them is dressed formally and they act formally, nodding and shaking his hand. Jack can see the doubt in Bunny’s eyes, in North’s, but neither of them act. 

When he reaches Tooth, his calm breaks, shatters into jagged pieces.

“Help me,” he begs, grabbing her hands. “Please, Tooth, don’t let them do this, don’t let them send me-”

But he is pulled roughly away from his sister and though she reaches for him, her hands quickly drop to her sides. She clenches her jaw, as stoic as their brothers.

“Now, Jack, don’t cry,” a familiar voice says, and Jack looks to see Ben approach. He gives Jack a smile and dabs at his cheeks with a piece of silk. “You’ll ruin your make-up.”

Jack can only stare. This man is like an uncle to him, yet when Jack is to be given as a slave to the Nightmare King, all he can worry about is Jack’s make-up?

And then Jack’s father steps out of the cabana. The rush of hatred that wells up startles Jack in its intensity, but then, why shouldn’t Jack hate him? Yes, the king is his father, but what kind of father gives away his child to his enemy?

 _It’s your duty as a prince_ , Jack thinks, and snarls, shaking as anger and fear collide in him.

The king doesn’t notice; he refuses to look at Jack. He gives a short, rehearsed speech full of flowery words and gratitude to Jack for making this sacrifice, and then steps back into the cabana.

Jack is pushed towards the circle of mages who will send him down to the planet, and as they start to chant, low and ominous, Jack turns to his siblings, another cry for help rising in him-

They are not even looking at him.

No-one will save him.

The silvery light of the bridge that connects the moon to the planet grows stronger. When it is almost blinding, Jack is pushed into it and he disappears into the liquid silver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the beginning...! It was originally based on [this gorgeous artwork](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/46403016820/pitch-king-of-nightmares-raining-in-adelaide) <3 
> 
> If you don't have an AO3 account and would like to track, this story has [its own tumblr account](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/) that I created to help in planning, and I'll also be posting links to my own [tumblr account](http://adelaiderain.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

Jack is floating in silver light, blindingly bright. He closes his eyes against the intensity of it, tries to cover his face with his hands but he can’t seem to move his arms.

And then he hits something, hard. His mind takes a few seconds to readjust to a world with gravity and substance. He’s facedown on a floor that is hard and cold. Opening his eyes, he sees that it is black stone tile, speckled with white flecks that sparkle.

“Prince Jackson of Lunanoff?” It’s a woman’s voice, cool and self-assured; when Jack looks up and sees her, his first thought is that she matches the voice. Tall with long black hair worn in two braids, her clothes are black too; trousers and a tunic, well-made but unadorned. Jack has never seen anything so simple, but what does he know of fashion in Umbra?

And she is most certainly Umbran. She has the grey skin so common in her country; that is the reason it is known as the Land of Shadows.

As Jack glances around, he sees that the room is filled with guards who share that ashen skin, visible only where their strange helmets show their faces.

“Yes,” he says, his voice strained. “I’m Jack. Prince Jackson of Lunanoff.”

“I am Onyx,” she says, bowing her head slightly. “Advisor to the king. You’ll excuse the guards, I hope. A precaution.”

Jack nods and fidgets with the sleeve of his robe. He can feel his heart sprinting in his chest, and he tries to swallow down his anxiety. Whatever he might wish, he is here in the Shadow King’s castle, surrounded by guards. He knows he needs to calm down and he takes slow, shaky breaths that help a little.

The woman – Onyx – looks at him for a moment, then turns to one of her companions. He too has grey skin, though far darker than Onyx’s, and black curls that brush his shoulders. His robe is a little more like what Jack is used to, golden embroidery around the hem, and although it is ridiculous, that little reminder of home takes the edge off Jack’s panic. 

“Jethryn will examine you for magical items,” she says.

“Another precaution?” The bitter words slip out before Jack can stop them and he winces. Onyx smiles, ever so slightly.

“Precisely.”

Jethryn circles Jack, chanting under his breath. He pauses at Jack’s side, taking hold of his wrist and examining the bracelet. The binding bracelet, Jack thinks, blinking.

“What is this?” The mage runs his fingers over the runes.

Jack stares at it. It stops him from consciously accessing his magic and he’s worn it for years, ever since his magic started to surface. Everyone is so used to him wearing it that it’s become a part of him – even the aides and the dressers didn’t remove it.

 _Or maybe they were afraid of what I might do,_ Jack thinks. Being bound for so long means that he never developed much control over his magic but it responds to his mood. Only the gods know what his fear and rage over being sent here would have wrought.

“It binds my magic,” Jack says, not sure how much he should say and not in the mood to share.

Jethryn frowns at it and places his hands over the metal. He hums and the runes glow; then he nods, satisfied.

“He speaks truly; it will be removed in the ceremony along with everything else.” He pauses and glances at Jack with silvery eyes. “Why did they bind your magic? You’ve clearly worn this for a long time.”

“It’s ice magic,” Jack shrugs. “And we don’t have much water, you know?”

“But ice melts,” Jethryn says, then shakes his head as though realising that this probably isn’t the time. “I’ll examine it after the ritual,” he says to Onyx, and then turns to exit through a small side door, leaving Jack alone with her and the guards.

“In a moment I will take you to the Temple of Shadows, where the king is waiting for you,” Onyx says. “I assume your people explained the ritual?”

“They didn’t explain anything,” Jack murmurs, his voice wavering.

Onyx pauses, frowning at him. “But we gave them the details-“ She stops herself and her professional, veiled expression returns. “Then I shall explain. We will lead you to the temple. When you enter, you will be in an antechamber. Pass through, and the king will be there, along with the priest and the acolytes. The priest will formally introduce you to the king. You’ll be stripped of these things from your former life, the jewels and the clothes. Then you will be bathed – cleansed – and lastly collared. You won’t speak until the priest asks you to confirm the vows, when you say _I will_. Do you understand?”

 _I don’t understand anything,_ Jack thinks, but he nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” She pauses for another moment, but Jack has no idea what she is thinking. And then she turns, flinging open the huge doors.

Despite everything, Jack can’t help but gape as he is led through the hallways. His first thought was to remember the route in case he got chance to escape, but he is so startled by how different everything is that he is having trouble paying attention. Just the hallways are as large as rooms at home. The opulence that Jack based on the palace in Lunanoff – paintings and sculptures, carved walls, gold leaf everywhere: there is none of that here. The floors are all the same cold black stone and the only decorations are geometric patterns on the walls and tall, slim columns. Occasionally there are tiles of etched dark metal and even more rarely, a flash of what looks to be burnished gold.

The mere size of this place cows Jack. He tries to remember the way, which turns they took, but it’s just so _big_. And then there is the fear, mounting, filling him, making it hard to breathe. Fear of what will happen if he makes a mistake in this ritual; fear of what will happen if he doesn’t.

 _You can escape,_ he promises himself. _Just get through this, do as you’re told. They’ll leave you alone eventually and then you can get out._

He tries not to remember that he has nowhere to go.

They reach a set of double doors more ornate than anything Jack has seen so far. Black wood inlayed with gold; swirling patterns are etched onto the metal. Onyx turns to look closely at him once more.

“Just do as I told you,” she says, something almost like cool encouragement in her golden eyes. “It’s a simple enough ritual.”

He nods and she opens the doors. Beyond is the antechamber and he steps inside, feeling his destiny close in on him when the doors shut behind him.

Jack isn't sure how long he stands there in the antechamber, staring at the heavy red curtains that separate it from the temple beyond. All his life his friends have called him brave, but now, standing here, he wonders if he's ever known true courage. 

Trying to clear his thoughts, he shakes his head, causing his jewellery to chime softly. It's just a few steps. And it's just a ritual - one little ritual. Nothing that Onyx described sounded too scary. 

But afterwards, Pitch will want to-

Jack pushes the thoughts aside. He has to focus on one thing at a time. He can do this. 

With fear clawing at his heels, Jack steps forward and pushes through the curtains. 

He blinks, startled at how bright it is beyond them. He squints, breathing in a bright, fresh scent he doesn't recognise. As his eyes adjust, he sees that one wall is covered entirely in glass, painted in a rainbow of colours near the top, clear below. A huge pair of doors sit in the middle of the wall and beyond is a rocky area, where water falls into a pool.

Only when a thin, high voice calls out "Prince Jackson of Lunanoff," does Jack force his attention to the people in the room. Turning to the speaker, he sees that it is a man in a heavily decorated robe, grey beads on black velvet, with a golden staff in one hand. Behind him are three women and a young man, dressed in similar but simpler robes. The priest and his acolytes, Jack guesses. He nods, wondering if the no speaking rule has started already or if he should answer. 

The priest nods and shuffles forward, gesturing impatiently for Jack to follow. He stops before another man, tall and slender, his poise utterly self-assured. He has similar bone structure to Onyx, high cheekbones and pointed chin. His clothing is simple and elegant, cut to suit his slim frame, a sharp contrast to the priest's decadent outfit - and Jack's, for that matter. Despite the simple clothes, Jack is instantly sure that this is Pitch. He is unmistakably a king. 

"Prince Jackson of Lunanoff, this is His Royal Majesty, Lord of Shadows, and Ruler of Fear: King Pitch, the first of his name. Your master."

The last word makes terror rear up in Jack but he nods, his father's words racing through his mind. 

_It’s for the good of the people._

_It’s your duty as a prince._

_Think of all the lives you’ll save._

And then, the words that truly calm him: 

_You can escape. You can escape. You can escape._

As he repeats the words his panic ebbs away and becomes manageable. He looks up at Pitch to find him watching, his eyes tracing over Jack like he's exploring everything about him. There's hunger in those eyes and Jack looks away before the panic returns. 

"My king, are you ready to begin?" Pitch nods, and the priest turns to Jack. "And you?" Jack nods, although he isn’t, he will never be ready for this. 

The priest steps back and begins to chant. He uses the Old Language, just as the aides in Lunanoff did. Jack wishes he knew some of the language; it might give him more of an idea of what is happening. Thanks to Onyx, at least he has an idea of what to expect. 

The priest stops speaking and a bell chimes. The acolytes step forward. Pitch lifts a hand to Jack’s hair, strokes his fingers through it briefly. Jack’s eyes flutter at the touch and fear rises in him. A smile plays over Pitch’s lips and he slides the clips from Jack’s hair, puts them in a box that one of the acolytes holds. Piece by piece, Jack is stripped of all the jewellery that felt so strange to him and when it is all gone he feels lighter. And then, lastly, the binding bracelet is removed. Jack feels the barrier that stopped him accessing his magic dissolve, and there it is, flickering like hungry flames. He glances at Pitch, at the priest and the acolytes. He could freeze them all and run. But could he? Having never trained, he doesn’t know how to make his magic obey his will; besides, there are guards outside, and where would he go in any case?

The meagre hope sputters and dies, and the ritual continues.

The outer robe is slipped from Jack’s shoulders and he clenches his hands, forcing himself to stay still. The robe is given to an acolyte and Pitch’s hands slide down Jack’s waist to tug the tie of the tunic undone. As that too slips from Jack’s shoulders it leaves him completely naked and Jack blushes, trying to resist the urge to cover himself with his hands.

Lastly Pitch kneels to remove Jack’s sandals and Jack blushes at how close Pitch’s head is to his dick. Will that be a common occurrence, he wonders, feeling slightly hysterical. Will Pitch please him as well, or will he care only for his own pleasure?

Once Jack is free of all garments and jewellery, the last remnants of Lunanoff, the priest resumes his droning chant.

This time when he stops, Pitch takes Jack’s hands in his own. Jack glances down at them, at Pitch’s long, grey fingers wrapped gently around his own, and his stomach tightens. Pitch tugs, and Jack follows him to the huge glass doors and through them.

Jack almost forgets about his troubles as they step outside, everything swept aside by the pure power of the sun, the real fresh air and the scents of nature. He closes his eyes and the wind dances around him; he can almost hear its voice, playful and powerful. Breathing in deeply, he is struck by how good it feels, how different it is to the constraints of the moon, where everything is carefully maintained. And for the first time he realises how claustrophobic it was, seen only now when he knows that things can be different. He feels like he is truly breathing for the first time, feels freer than he ever has before.

And then Pitch squeezes his hand gently, and that illusion of freedom shatters.

He opens his eyes.

Pitch looks down at him questioningly, then seems to remember that they are in the middle of a ritual. He strips of his own robe and Jack stares at his nakedness. Slim but powerful, the muscles are hard beneath the skin, but Jack’s gaze drops below Pitch’s waist, glancing at his cock. He looks away quickly, feeling his cheeks burning. It looked sort of big, but it’s not really possible to tell until he’s hard.

Which Jack will probably see soon enough.

Jack makes himself focus on this ritual, focus on the moment. _You can escape,_ he reminds himself; he just needs to get through this.

Pitch gestures at the water and Jack goes to step into it. When it is unexpectedly warm he jerks back, startled – but not before his magic kicks in, covering the surface with a thin layer of ice. Jack stares at it in horror, afraid to look at Pitch to see his reaction. Whenever he used his powers in Lunanoff, accidentally or otherwise, he was always punished – how much worse must Pitch’s punishments be?

When he forces himself to look at Pitch, instead he sees wonder in his eyes. He’s confused but relieved. The heat of the water is already breaking up the ice, and Jack steps forward again, clamping down on his magic as much as he knows how.

Pitch follows him into the water and reaches for a clear crystal jug on the side of the pool. He fills it and pours it over Jack’s head. It runs over his head and shoulders, and it feels nice. In any other situation Jack might enjoy it. Once Jack’s hair is wet, Pitch pushes it back from his forehead and picks up a bar of soap from beside the jug. He cleans Jack’s face first, washing away all the make-up that the dressers so diligently painted on him. Then he moves on, slowly leaving a trail of lather over Jack’s arms, his shoulders. When he reaches beneath the water Jack bites his lip. Even though his movements are as impersonal as the rest of the cleansing, when Pitch’s hands move to Jack’s dick he can’t stop his blush, especially not when he starts to get hard. Pitch smiles at that. His movements get a little less impersonal then, a few strokes that make Jack gasp before he moves on.

He’s still half hard when it is time to get out of the water and he wills it to go down before they go back into the temple, but when Pitch pays him similar attention while drying him it doesn’t help. Pitch dresses again and then smiles at Jack, stroking his cheek gently. It’s such a tender gesture that Jack stares at him, not understanding. Tenderness from the Nightmare King?

Things move on before Jack has much time to think about it. Pitch leads him back inside, where a cushion has been laid on the floor, and Pitch pushes him down onto his knees. Now Jack’s head is at the same height as Pitch’s cock, and _that_ , he knows, will be common occurrence.

He tries not to dwell on the thought, but then one of the acolytes approaches with a collar resting in a shallow box. He stares at it, a blatant sign of his new role – of his enslavement. It is gold, a inch-high circlet of metal that will change everything about Jack’s life.

“Jackson of Lunanoff,” the priest says. “With this collar, you will be marked as Pitch’s courtesan forever. Will you accept?”

It takes a long moment to make his mouth work, but eventually Jack says, “I will,” in a small voice, thinking, _for now_.

“And will you, Pitch, accept Jackson as your courtesan?”

“I will,” Pitch says, the first time Jack has heard him speak.

“Then he is yours. Mark him as such.”

It is hard to stay there as Pitch steps forward with the collar in his hands, but Jack does, digging his nails into his thighs. It’s just a collar. He can take it off later. This is just a ritual – those vows were only words. Everything will be fine. He just needs to get through this and he can think about it later, he can escape, or something, something, he just needs to get through this.

Pitch starts to speak again, a chant in the Old Language. Jack may not understand the words, but Pitch has a beautiful voice, smooth and rich. The rhythm of the chant makes it almost hypnotic and strangely calming. Jack closes his eyes.

The collar is placed around Jack’s neck, cool against his skin, and he hears a _click_ as it is fastened. Pitch continues his chant and Jack feels a tingle of unfamiliar magic on his skin. To close the collar, he thinks, and-

Pain.

 _Searing_ pain, agony. His arms burn, freeze, feel like they’re being punctured with a thousand needles all at once. He screams –

And just as suddenly, the pain is gone.

Jack gulps in air, tries to collect his whirlwind thoughts, tries to understand what just happened. He realises that Pitch’s hands are on his shoulders, the only thing holding him upright.

Opening his eyes, he looks down at his arms, afraid that they are going to be bleeding or burnt. Instead they are beautiful. Flowing from the collar, over his shoulders and arms down to his wrists, is a silver and blue pattern, swirling and delicate.

Frost, he thinks, though he knows it only from the few times he used his magic before the binding bracelet was forced on him. It’s undoubtedly beautiful, but seeing it on his own skin is so odd.

The priest speaks again and Jack is pulled to his feet. Two of the acolytes step forward, one with a bundle of fabric in her arms, the other holding two golden cuffs.

Pitch takes the fabric and Jack sees that it is a sleeveless robe, sheer silver over white. Pitch eases him into it and it is fastened with a wide, white belt. Pitch pauses and runs his hands down Jack’s arms, smiling with delight in his eyes.

The bracelets are fastened around Jack’s wrists – no chant and no magic this time, but they have a round ring at the front of them just as the collar does.

“It is done,” the priest says, and the bell chimes again. “Jackson, formerly of Lunanoff, is yours, my king.”

“Mine,” Pitch purrs. It makes Jack shiver, for many reasons. He is startled that one of them is pleasure at the sound of Pitch’s voice.

An acolyte steps forward with a golden chain. When Pitch attaches it to Jack's collar, he feels another fluttering, panicky moment. There couldn't be a clearer sign of his new role, especially when his hands are pulled behind his back and a shorter chain connects the cuffs.

Without speaking, Pitch tugs on the chain around Jack's neck and leads him out of the temple. Two guards wait outside with Onyx. She falls into step with Pitch and the guards follow behind.

After walking down a maze of corridors, finally they stop before a door made of dark wood with some sort of sigil marked on it with gold. The guards take their places either side of the door and stand to attention. Jack wants to run, but Pitch’s grip on the chain is firm. He just needs to wait until he’s alone, then he can think about this. 

Pitch pushes open the door and leads Jack into the room. Onyx enters as well and stands just inside the door.

It is a grand room, the central feature being a huge bed. Panic wells up in Jack. Is this it? Has he been brought to Pitch's bedroom to- To do his duty?

After removing the chains attached to Jack’s collar and cuffs, Pitch hangs them on hooks near the door and turns to look at him. He takes Jack’s hands in his own and smiles down at him.

"These are your rooms," Pitch says.

"Mine?" Jack can’t help the startled exclamation.

Pitch pauses and glances around. “Are they not suitable?”

“They’re better than my rooms at home,” Jack says, then realises that probably isn’t the way he’s supposed to talk to the king. Gods, he wishes he knew what he was doing. “I mean-“

“I’m glad to hear it,” Pitch says, waving away Jack’s excuses. “Come.”

Pitch leads him past the bed, past a chaise longue and a table, into a huge and luxurious bathroom. Jack is amazed when Pitch turns a metal handle and water runs from a spout into the bath. Water truly is plentiful here.

And then he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror and he can only stare. The white robe is as strange as the robes his own people put him in, though it suits him far better. He could run in this, if he gets a chance. 

Most of all he stares at the markings on his arms. They are permanent, he is sure of it. Burned into his skin by the spell that fastened the collar.

In the mirror he sees Pitch approach, watches him lightly rest his hands on Jack’s shoulders.

“We look good together,” Pitch says quietly, and Jack can’t deny that. In purely aesthetic terms, the contrast of Pitch’s grey skin against Jack’s paleness, of Jack’s white hair and Pitch’s black – they go together well.

Staring at their reflections, Jack feels the weight of everything that has happened to him – of everything that will happen. Despite how afraid he is of being subject to Pitch’s whims, it’s nothing to how much the betrayal of his family hurts.

Closing his eyes and bowing his head, he tries to push away all of the hurt.

“Jackson…?”

Despite everything, being called _Jackson_ makes Jack breathe a laugh. Opening his eyes, he turns to look up at Pitch. “Jack. Call me Jack.”

Pitch smiles and nods. “And you can call me Pitch when we’re alone; though in public, you must call me _My king_.”

“Sure. Pitch.”

Pitch’s smile widens, then he leans in and Jack has just a second before their lips meet. His eyes flutter shut as Pitch kisses him softly, his hand going to the small of Jack’s back. The kiss is surprisingly sweet – Jack expected Pitch to be rough or claiming, but he’s gentle, and as his lips slide over Jack’s, he finds himself responding. His hands move to Pitch’s waist and he angles his head to deepen the kiss. Pitch doesn’t waste a moment in taking advantage of Jack’s invitation and he presses his tongue into Jack’s mouth, running it over Jack’s teeth and brushing against his tongue.

It doesn’t last long before Pitch pulls away to smile at Jack. “Beautiful,” he murmurs and runs his fingers through Jack’s hair.

Jack blinks up at him, startled by his own reaction. Is it something to do with the ritual, with the magic in the collar and his markings – or was that him, responding to Pitch so hungrily? The last few days have been far too crazy for Jack to even know where to begin to unravel those thoughts.

“And lastly,” Pitch continues, as though nothing has happened, “Your balcony.”

Crossing the main room, he opens a door and instantly the scents of nature fill the room. Jack steps through the door and finds himself on a large balcony, looking out onto gardens and a forest beyond. He instantly feels better. Once more the wind seems to sweep away all his worries and he closes his eyes, feeling a connection to the wind, to the coolness in the air that he’s never felt before. It’s his magic, he realises; his magic responds to the weather. The revelation is startling. The moon doesn’t _have_ weather, so this raw power startles him. He still can’t access it – the collar must contain binding magic just as the bracelet did – but he _feels_ it, just out of his reach.

Moving to the edge of the balcony, wanting to look over the side, he hits something: a magical barrier.

“To keep you safe,” Pitch says from behind him.

Jack touches it, watches the white and blue flare where his aura reacts with it. “To keep me where you want me.”

Pitch is silent and Jack doesn’t turn to look at him. He doesn’t want Pitch to see the hurt on his face.

Eventually Pitch says, “Only for a while. Until I’m sure I can trust you.”

Jack wants to be offended but he knows it makes sense; he couldn’t have expected otherwise. He looks out over the gardens below. They’re ordered and prim, a contrast to the wildness of the forests beyond. Looking at them restores a little of Jack’s balance. Whatever brought him here, he’s glad he got the chance to see these things he’s only seen in pictures before. On the edges of consciousness, blunted by the restraining magic of the collar, he can feel the wind call to him. He’s sure that if his magic wasn’t bound he could speak back, command it.

For the first time Jack is realising how little he knows himself, how little he’s been _allowed_ to know. For all that Jack has always disobeyed the rules, he’s been on a short leash all of his life. The binding bracelet forced on him – and now his _duty_.

Rubbing his eyes, Jack bows his head.

“You must be tired,” Pitch says. “It has been a long day for you.”

Jack nods. On quiet feet, Pitch comes over to him, puts a hand beneath Jack’s chin and angles his head so that he’s looking at him. Belatedly, Jack remembers that no courtesan would ever meet the eyes of the king at home, and he looks away. The last thing that Jack needs is for Pitch to be angry with him.

“Then rest,” Pitch says softly. “Take the day for yourself.”

Jack does look at him then, too startled to remember his place. Why would Pitch do that? Surely he should be gloating, wanting to thoroughly claim his prize?

Glancing away again, as demure as he knows how, Jack nods. “Thank you.”

Pitch runs his fingers through Jack’s hair and then after giving Jack one last, soft kiss, he turns to leave, Onyx at his heels.

The door shuts behind them – locked, of course – and Jack turns to his new rooms, sad and tired and confused.

Every time he thinks he knows what will happen next he’s taken by surprise. He wishes he knew what to expect from his new position. Even if it was awful, at least he would know what to be afraid of. That would be better than this uncertainty - maybe.

Each time stepping into the fresh air has made him feel better and he goes onto his balcony once more to feel the rejuvenating effects.

Outside the air is scented with living things, trees and plants and grasses. Jack breathes in deep and it conjures memories of rare trips to the hydroponic gardens in Lunanoff; hushed, almost reverent visits.

It also makes the anger return; Bunny had taken him on the last visit, smiling and big brotherly. Yet when it came to this...

Closing his eyes, trying not to cry, Jack breathes deep the green scent of the fading day. It calms him, a little, and he gazes out over the gardens. It's so beautiful. Better than anything on the moon, better than anything Jack’s ever imagined.

Jack stays there for a long time, gazing out at the gardens and the trees beyond. The sun sets, the sky fading to pink, then purple and darkest navy. Jack stares up, realising that he is watching nightfall for the first time in his life. The dome on the moon is bespelled to project day and night as those ancient mages knew it on the planet so long ago, but it is nothing compared to the real thing.

And then the moon rises over the peak of the distant mountains, a silver disk that sets the night alight. For a moment Jack is struck by the beauty of his home, until his awe is overcome by the knowledge that it is not his home, not any more.

The betrayal crashes over him like a wave, the undertow pulling him to his knees.

He feels everything all at once and drops his head into his hands, weeping.

The next he is aware, hands are slipping under his legs and back and he is being picked up. Blinking groggily, he sees that it is Pitch, now wearing a plain black robe. It is dark still, much colder that it was.

"Wha-" Jack starts, but his mouth is dry and fuzzy.

"You fell asleep," Pitch says, and Jack thinks he can hear a note of scolding in his voice. "If you plan on sleeping on the balcony again, please use a blanket."

Jack can't bring himself to react; he's exhausted and so terribly sad that it's a kind of numbness all its own. He lets his head fall against Pitch's chest as he carries him into the bedroom.

When Pitch puts him on the bed and starts to undress him, Jack's eyes close. At least Pitch has chosen this time to - to enjoy himself, when Jack's already hit his lowest point. He doesn't even care what Pitch does.

So when Pitch leaves him, walks over to the closet and returns with a robe like his own, Jack isn't sure what to make of it. Pitch helps him into it, and then pulls the blankets over him. Jack frowns up at him, thoroughly confused.

"Go to sleep," Pitch says, brushing Jack's hair off his forehead. "We'll talk in the morning."

"But..." Jack trails off, not even sure what he was going to say.

Pitch smiles at him and kisses him ever so gently. Jack is more confused than ever.

"Sleep," Pitch says again, and touches Jack's cheek before turning to leave.

Jack lies in the dark, trying to understand, to take in all the things that have happened today, but as tiredness encroaches again, he gives up and lets his eyes drift closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the response to this! I'm truly humbled <3
> 
> I want to share with you a couple of pieces of fanart (yes, fanart already - I'm so honoured and amazed!). Firstly, [Jack in his courtesan regalia](http://foxygrampaglasses.tumblr.com/post/49664114113/jack-frost-from-raining-in-adelaides-fanfiction) by [foxygrampaglasses](http://foxygrampaglasses.tumblr.com/) \- the robes are SO beautiful - just look at all those patterns! And then there are [not just one](http://yasminmbf.deviantart.com/art/The-heavy-weight-of-duty-fanart2-370137926?q=sort%3Atime%20gallery%3Ayasminmbf&qo=10), [but two](http://yasminmbf.deviantart.com/art/The-heavy-weight-of-duty-fanart1-370138014?q=sort%3Atime%20gallery%3Ayasminmbf&qo=11) gorgeous pieces by [yasminmbf](http://yasminmbf.deviantart.com/). And that second one was done before this chapter was even published, based on my inspiration journal :3 Go and look at them, they're amazing! <3 <3 <3


	3. Chapter 3

Jack wakes up feeling heavy, like he has been smothered by his dreams. 

Sitting up, he glances around the unfamiliar room. He doesn’t know what to make of being given such grand quarters rather than being put in the harem with the other courtesans. Obviously that’s different here. A lot of things are different here. 

When he pushes himself out of bed he finds the stone tiles cold beneath his feet, such a contrast to the plush carpets at the palace in Lunanoff. At home, he’d have been woken up by one of the servants, or North roaring at him good naturedly, telling him to get to class. Or Jamie, having snuck into the palace to see him. 

Jamie, Jack thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. Where was Jamie? Why didn’t he help Jack? He’s Jack’s best friend, and even _he_ didn’t do anything to help Jack. Was someone stopping him? Or did he really not care enough to even try?

Biting his lip, Jack shakes his head. He can’t believe that. Something must have happened. If his family was willing to give Jack away as a courtesan, locking Jamie up for a few hours would be nothing. Jack’s eyes fill with tears. He wishes he could see him. Just one friendly face – just one thing that is familiar. 

But he has nothing. 

Jack goes onto the balcony. It helped him feel better last night, and it’s the nearest thing he has to freedom, to running on the rooftops the way he did whenever he was upset at home. 

Taking a deep, shaking breath, Jack gazes out at his view. It’s still early and the sun is low in a pale sky. He’s startled by a sudden gust of wind that rifles through his hair. It feels playful, teasing his bangs and whispering at the edge of his robe. Jack smiles; it’s almost like the wind is trying to make him feel better. 

He stays out there for a while, watching the breeze play through the grasses in the garden and the trees of the forest, but eventually his curiosity compels him to explore. He wishes he could go out in the gardens at least, but maybe Pitch will let him do that later, after–

Jack forces his thoughts away from Pitch and goes back into his rooms. 

There are none of the extravagances Jack is used to - no bright tapestries or paintings in golden frames – but though it is plain it is clearly luxurious. The tiles look expensive and the furniture is finely crafted; the bed coverings are soft and rich. 

On the table near the chaise longue, he finds a carafe of water. Jack pours a glass and drinks deep, then another. He didn’t realise how thirsty he was, or hungry, but then he hasn’t had real food or drink for two days. 

He skirts those thoughts too, feeling like he’s constantly edging around a black abyss. He distracts himself by examining the contents of the bookcase beside the table. It’s full of books about Selena, the country where Jack’s people lived before they retreated to the city on the moon during the Great War. Jack glances through one of them but it just reminds him of his dullest lessons. Why are these books here? Surely Pitch doesn’t care if his courtesan feels at home. For that matter, what use does a courtesan have for books?

Sighing, Jack turns away and goes into the bathroom. There are various liquids and potions and he smells each of them, but eventually he can’t stop himself. He turns to the mirror. 

He looks tired, and his eyes are haunted and sad; there is no trace of his usual smile. Pulling open the belt of the robe that Pitch dressed him in last night – _why did Pitch do that ?_ \- Jack pushes the robe off his shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. 

The collar and cuffs are startling enough, but the markings are the real shock. He runs his hands over his arms. They are as smooth as they ever were, the only scars from old falls and scuffles. 

There is a brief, sharp knock at the main door and then the sound of the handle turning. Jack’s heart hammers in his chest and he grabs the robe, pulling it back on as the door swings open. 

It is Pitch, of course, with Onyx by his side. She nods a greeting at Jack and then takes up her position by the door. 

Pitch himself approaches Jack, taking his hands in his own. Jack stares at their hands, at the subtle black-on-black embroidery on the hem of Pitch’s sleeve. 

“Did you sleep well?” Pitch asks, and part of Jack perks up at the velvet sound of his voice. Maybe if he can get Pitch to talk as he – claims him, it might not be so bad, Jack thinks with grim humour. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Jack says, concentrating on the patterns on Pitch’s sleeve. “Out like a light.”

“You must have been so tired,” Pitch says, his thumb playing over the back of Jack’s wrist, just below the cuff. “I hadn’t even thought of what you must have gone through in Lunanoff before you arrived here.”

Jack almost laughs at that, but if he starts he might never stop. He can feel panic and hysteria lapping at him like hungry flames. 

“Yeah,” he says instead. “It was a pretty busy day.”

They’re interrupted by another knock and Jack is startled to see men enter with furniture – a wood-framed sofa and a table – and take them out onto the balcony. 

“I thought since you seem to like it out there, it should be made more comfortable for you,” Pitch says, and Jack stares up at him. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” The words spill from him before he can stop them. Pitch gives him an odd look. 

“You’re my courtesan, Jack,” he says, as though that explains anything. 

Another man comes in with a large tray of food and places it on the new table. Jack forgets his questions as his half-forgotten hunger roars to life, and he only just manages to wait for Pitch’s invitation before gorging himself. Meat, cheese and fruit he recognises, but the sweet pastries and soft crumbly cubes are as mysterious as they are delicious. 

There’s a hot, dark drink that is bitter, and a juice that Jack doesn’t recognise but has two glasses of. When he eventually slows down he sees that Pitch is looking at him with amusement in his eyes. Strange how they seemed grey inside but out here they seem golden.

“I assume you were hungry?”

“Uh,” Jack says, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Guess I was. I’ve not eaten in almost two days.”

Concern crosses Pitch’s face. “I’m sorry. I should have offered you something last night. That was discourteous of me.”

“It’s fine,” Jack says quietly and sits back on the sofa to watch a cloud meander across the sky. He still doesn’t know what to make of Pitch being nice to him, and doesn’t want to question it further in case it changes his mind. 

Pitch takes Jack’s hands again and resumes stroking his wrist. When Jack glances down, he realises that Pitch is stroking the line where the marking ends. His stomach gives an ugly twist and he looks away again. 

“I wish I'd been able to meet you before the ritual,” Pitch says. “Not that I'm disappointed with you, not at all. But I would have liked to get to know you a little first.”

Jack has to take several deep breaths before he can answer calmly, and even then his voice shakes. “Me too, but I didn't know anything about it until the day before yesterday.”

“What do you mean? This has been planned for months.”

“No-one told me,” Jack says, and clenches his jaw to stop to stop the storm of angry, frightened words from forcing themselves past his teeth.

“Councillor Benard said that it was your idea - that you wanted to be my courtesan.”

Jack stares at him. Pitch thought that he _wanted_ this? And Ben lied about it? The betrayal stabs at Jack again, reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal. “I don't know what to tell you. I was never given chance to decide whether I wanted it. Just that I _was_ doing it. I didn’t have a choice – I didn’t have a choice in any of this, and nothing was explained, they just said _do your duty_ and I was just thrown down here and–” Jack stops, trying to catch his breath but it comes fast and hitching. He covers his eyes with a hand and tries not to cry – not here, not in front of Pitch – but everything just keeps getting worse. Ben lied to Pitch, as though he wanted to make Jack’s life even more difficult that it would have been anyway. Every time that Jack thinks he has some kind of idea of what is happening everything shifts and shatters. 

“Jack,” Pitch says softly when Jack can’t stop his tears, and pulls him into an embrace. That’s the most comforting thing anyone’s done for him through this whole ordeal. Not his family or friends but the _Nightmare King_ –

But since Pitch is the only one who seems to give a damn about Jack, maybe he doesn’t deserve that reputation. If it’s the only comfort Jack is going to get, he sees no point in pushing it away. He buries his head in the collar of Pitch’s tunic and cries until the sobs devolve into sniffles, until the agony in his heart recedes to a dull ache. 

“Now,” Pitch says when Jack’s mostly calm, and gently wipes the tears from Jack’s cheeks. “Start again. I don’t think I understood. What didn’t they tell you beforehand?” 

“They didn’t tell me _anything_ ,” Jack whispers, shaking his head. “I’m the youngest prince- the _least important_ ,” he says, the words bitter on his tongue. “I hardly knew anything about the war, or about politics. I wasn’t given an option. I was being sent here whether I wanted to be your courtesan or not.”

Pitch is silent for a long moment, then moves away from Jack and looks at him with narrowed eyes. “And _do_ you want to be my courtesan?”

 _No,_ would be Jack’s instinctive answer, but what are his other choices? Even if Pitch lets him go, he can’t go back to the moon, to a family who betrayed him, where everyone would know that they’re at war because of him. And if he stayed here on the planet – what, fending for himself in the forest? Going to the nearest town and trying to make money? Jack’s never learned a trade, never learned anything. 

“I don’t know,” Jack says eventually, very quiet. 

“You don’t know,” Pitch repeats, and stands. “The peace treaty was based upon you offering yourself to me. And now you’re saying that was a lie?”

“Ben lied, not me-”

“That doesn’t make it alright,” Pitch hisses, then storms into the main room, slamming the balcony door behind him and making Jack flinch. Inside, he can hear Pitch’s raised voice, Onyx’s replies in soothing tones. The door muffles their words, but Jack can guess well enough what they’re talking about. 

Why would Ben lie about that? Is that the only way that Pitch would accept the treaty – if Jack came here willingly? Then why wasn’t Jack asked? He has no idea what his answer would have been if he had been given the choice. He wouldn’t have wanted to do it, gods, of course he wouldn’t, but having the _choice_ would have made so much difference. 

And surely Ben must have realised that Pitch would find out eventually. Just from Jack’s behaviour, Pitch would have figured out that this was not something he chose. 

The door opens again, Onyx by Pitch’s side. Her brow is furrowed; she looks as confused as Jack feels. 

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Pitch says, in a suspiciously cool voice. 

“Like I said, I was just told that I was being sent down here to be your courtesan. My father said _do your duty, Jack!_ And apparently my duty is to let you fuck me–” Jack stops, realising that probably isn’t the way he should speak to the king, his _master_ , but when Pitch’s careful control of his expression drops, it reveals not anger but surprise. 

“What exactly do you think a courtesan is?” 

Jack’s mouth works silently for a moment, not sure what Pitch expects him to say. “A courtesan – Courtesans work in the harem – the pleasure house. And when the king wants – pleasure – he goes to them.”

“And then?”

“And then he… goes back to his rooms?”

“Wait,” Onyx says. “Are you saying that in Lunanoff, a courtesan is someone that the king only goes to for an hour of physical pleasure – nothing more?”

“I guess,” Jack says. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“That’s not what a courtesan is here, Jack,” Onyx says softly. “Not at all.”

“Then- what is it?” When Onyx and Pitch share a glance but don’t seem about to share what they’re thinking, Jack groans in frustration. He’s sick of not knowing anything. “Please, tell me. Or give me a book, or have one of your other courtesans tell me, but if I’m supposed to be doing this, I need to know what _this_ is.”

Pitch stares at Jack for another moment. “A king only has one courtesan,” he says, then shakes his head. Jack can see his anger flickering to life again. “This is outrageous. Councillor Benard and your father lied to me – they lied to _everyone_. This whole peace treaty is based on falsehood-”

“Pitch,” Onyx says quietly, and touches his arm. “We need to call your advisors together so that we can decide what is to be done about this. But Jack is here, and he’s scared and confused. If the treaty is to stand, he needs to know what it means to be a courtesan.”

He looks at her, then back at Jack. He sighs and sinks down onto the sofa beside Jack. He’s obviously still angry but his expression softens. “To think that your own father lied to you like this-” Jack just looks at him. Why does Pitch care if Jack was lied to? Pitch strokes his thumb across Jack’s lips, then stands. “I will arrange for some books to be brought to you, and later we can talk about this.”

He stalks away. Onyx looks after him, but before she follows, she says to Jack, “He’s not angry with you. He’s been looking forward to meeting you for a long time, Jack. And now…” She shakes her head. “Make sure you look at the books. This is nothing like you think it is.”

And then she goes, and Jack is left alone. 

For a long moment he just sits there, too full of confusion to even feel fear. Questions skitter through his mind but he has no answers for any of them. Eventually he finishes the rest of the food and goes back into his rooms. He wanders around them again, as though the answers he seeks might be found in stone tiles or door frames. 

When he wanders into the bathroom, he carefully turns the handle as Pitch did the day before, and stares in amazement as the tub starts to fill with water. It’s warm, just as the ritual pool was, and Jack figures that since he’s here in this place of abundant water, he may as well take advantage of it. He chooses one of the bottles beside the bath and pours a little into the water, eyes widening as bubbles blossom. 

When it is full he gets into the water, sighing at how good it feels. The heat permeates his body, easing his aches and soothing his soul. He stares up at the ceiling and tries not to think about anything. He’s _tired_ of thinking about things. He’s tired of everything. 

One hand drops to the floor outside of the bath and Jack traces soapy patterns on the floor, following the lines between tiles and feeling the sharp corners beneath his fingertips. 

“Why,” he says softly, to the ceiling, to anybody, to nobody. “Why?”

He lies there until the water grows cold, and when he gets out of the bath he moves slowly, his limbs feeling heavy. He dries with soft towels and goes to the closet, finding it mostly bare. He pulls on a pair of white trousers and a tunic that is open at the sides, so he uses the belt from yesterday to hold it closed. 

There's a knock at the door but it doesn't open. Jack looks at it, tries the handle. Still locked. On the other side he hears a murmured conversation; only then does the door open.

A stranger steps in. He looks a few years younger than Jack, but the thing that really startles him is that the kid’s skin is pale peach, cheeks washed with pink. His hair is blond and his eyes are blue behind a pair of glasses. He’s the first person since he got here that has colouring like Jack's used to seeing, and he can't help but stare; he thought that all Umbrans were grey-skinned.

The kid’s arms are full of books and he shuffles them around to offer Jack his hand, but then quickly drops it.

“Oh, you're not meant to touch anyone but the king,” he says, then pauses awkwardly. “He, ah, asked me to bring you books about courtesans. The king did, I mean.” he puts the books on the table, arranging them carefully so that their spines are lined up.

“Thanks.” Jack glances at them and then quickly away again. He doesn’t want to think about that now. He wants distracting, just for a little while. 

“I'm Monty,” the guy says, eagerness in his voice. “And you're Prince Jackson.”

“Just Jack.”

“I think what you're doing is so brave,” Monty says with a nervous smile. “Leaving home like that, so that we can all have peace.”

Jack doesn't know what to say. He isn't brave. Maybe he would have been, had he been given a choice in any of this; but he doesn’t see anything courageous in being forced into something. “So, where are you from?” Jack says it as much to distract Monty as himself; being called _brave_ makes him feel dishonest. “I thought everyone in Umbra had grey skin.”

Monty's eyes widen, then he gives a nervous smile and shakes his head. “No, not at all. Almost everyone in the palace does, but I'm not highborn.”

“So it's just royalty and the upper classes that have grey skin?”

“Mostly; they’re the descendants of the first Umbrans, who came from the stars. The rest of us have always been here–“ Monty pauses and gives an abashed grin, as though realising how ridiculous his words are. “That’s what the stories say, anyway.”

Jack can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that far-fetched piece of myth. Then again, his own people’s tales say that as a prince, he’s a descendent of the moon god. That’s easily as absurd as people from beyond the stars.

“So you're the librarian?” Jack asks, wanting to keep the conversation going a little longer. It’s nice to talk to someone who has nothing to do with that happened to him; to talk about normal things instead of politics and his own terrifying future.

“Just the assistant,” he says, and gives a bright smile. “I hope to be one day, though. I’d be the first lowborn Royal Librarian, can you imagine that?”

“That’s great,” Jack says. He still feels sadness like a cloak over his shoulders, but Monty’s happiness is so sweet and light that he manages a smile. “So you got a speciality?”

“Pre-War history,” Monty says, and blushes a little. “Your country’s history, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Do- do you think I could ask you a question? About your family?”

“Sure,” Jack says with a shrug, and sits on the chaise longue. Monty looks at it as though considering sitting, but remains on his feet. This must be pretty weird for him, Jack realises – talking to the king’s courtesan. He supposes that he’s lucky that Monty is interested in his people’s history. Much as he doesn’t want to talk about – or even think about – his family, he’d much rather that than be alone with a hundred questions that he has no answers to.

“Well,” Monty starts, pushing his glasses up his nose and smiling nervously. “I’ve followed the lineage of your family right through to King Jokul, who ruled during the war. He was an ice mage, and I heard that you are, too. Does all your family have weather magic?”

“No,” Jack says, shaking his head. “We all have different magic. I guess that’s part of why we all look so different. One of my brothers looks kinda like a rabbit; my sister has feathers and wings.”

“That makes sense,” Monty says, nodding. “Your royal family has always had the most magic - not just in Selena but in the entire world. It would make sense that magical mutations are common.”

Jack blinks at him. “Mutations?”

“In the best possible way of course,” Monty says hurriedly, eyes wide as though he’s afraid that he might have offended Jack.

Jack laughs. He likes Monty, he decides. The few people that Jack has met here so far are so utterly self-assured, it's pleasant to meet someone who isn't, someone who’s _normal_. 

“So what about magic here,” Jack asks. “There was a guy when I arrived here – Jethryn, I think. He was a mage. I didn’t even know you had magic other than the shadow stuff.”

“We have magic but nothing like you,” Monty says. “Magic is a lot rarer and we have to use props to focus our magic. All but the royal family, that is.”

“Pitch? What sort of magic does he have exactly? All I know is that he can do stuff with shadows.”

“He controls shadows, yes. He can travel through them, as long as he’s seen his destination before. And he can shape them – into weapons, even into creatures to do his bidding. Before he was king, he was a formidable warrior.”

“I can imagine,” Jack says, frowning at the thought of the very shadows rising up to fight against him. He and Jamie used to sneak into the Army barracks, and he often overheard tales of that, but had assumed it was just exaggeration. 

“And Onyx can shape shadows too. She’s nowhere near as strong as King Pitch, but only her mother was part of the royal family – her father was lowborn.”

“Wait– Pitch and Onyx are related?”

“They’re cousins. She’s third in line for the throne–” Monty says, then cuts himself off. Is he trying to stop himself from saying too much to a possible enemy? The thought is depressing. 

There’s a moment of silence and then Jack can’t stop himself from asking, 

“What would you do? If you were told you had to be a courtesan?”

Monty pauses and adjusts his glasses thoughtfully. “If I was in your situation... Well, I can’t say I’d like it - being bound to someone I'd never met. But when so much is at stake, there isn't really any choice. Besides, that's what royalty does, though. Make alliances even when they don’t like it, or marry people they’ve never met - for the good of the people.”

Hearing his father's words repeated by someone Jack was starting to think might be a friend hurts. “Because it would be your duty as a prince?”

Monty blinks at him, confused by his sudden bitterness. “N-no. It would be my duty as a _person_. If someone told me tomorrow that I could stop the war by becoming a royal courtesan, I’d do it. Or at least I hope I would – that I’d be brave, like you.”

“It’s not even a real war,” Jack says, shaking his head.

“But- people are dying,” Monty says, frowning. “When your people take our water from remote places, people die of thirst before we can get supplies to them. And when there are battles – many soldiers have died, on both sides.”

“I-“ Jack starts, but trails off. No-one ever mentioned people on the planet dying because Lunanoff took their water, but Jack is starting to suspect that there are lots of things that no-one has mentioned.

“Besides,” Monty continues with an uncertain smile. “I'm sure that if I was a courtesan to one of your family, we’d find something to love about each other, however different we were.”

Jack stares up at him. “But it's not about love,” Jack says with a shake of his head. “It's just - sex. I might have these nice rooms but they're still just like the pleasure houses -”And then he notices the odd look Monty is giving him.

“I- I think you should look at the books, Jack,” he says, tapping the cover of the top book. “I don't think you understand what a courtesan is.”

===

Hours later, Jack sits back, slouching on the sofa. He's never been one for reading or studying but learning about what’s going to happen to him is good motivation.

And when he started reading, he couldn’t stop.

On the Moon, a courtesan is a person who gives physical pleasure, but here...

Jack gazes down at the book. It’s open to a picture of a king and his courtesan, happy and smiling as they walk hand-in-hand beneath a tree loaded with flowers.

According to these books, a courtesan is second only to the consort. It is far more likely that a ruler will take a courtesan out of love, where consorts are usually political matches. While technically a slave, subject to the whims of the ruler, more often than not they are adored and cherished, taken care of and treasured more than any other. Onyx was right – it is nothing like Jack thought. 

Although he was right in one thing: a courtesan is still expected to pleasure the king. There is an illustrated section all about that, and Jack had looked through it with wide eyes, feeling naïve and nervous and even a little turned on. 

One thing that Jack liked the sound of is that courtesans have a life of leisure - that at least sounds like him. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth but quickly falls flat. He is relieved to be wrong, but he far from happy. 

The more he thinks about everything that has happened, the more frustrated he gets. He can’t stop thinking how different things would have been if his father and Ben had just _asked_ him if he would do this. Like Monty, he’d like to think that he would have accepted his duty. But being forced into it is something completely different. 

He has had no choice in any of this. And what of Pitch's nickname of the Nightmare King? He’s heard terrible things about him, but how much is true? Is any of it? There’s still so much that Jack doesn’t know.

His thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. It swings open to reveal Pitch and Jack stands, feeling a rush of trepidation.

Pitch inclines his head in greeting, distinctly more distant than before. With his hands behind his back, he walks out onto the balcony and glances down at the table. “I see you have been reading.”

“Yeah. You were right, I had no idea. Everything is completely different here.” Jack touches the picture of the happy couple. He's been so caught up in his thoughts of how awful his future will be - but what if _that's_ his future? To be happy with Pitch? It's hard to imagine after all the stories he’s heard about Pitch, but he’s been so kind to Jack. Maybe he truly doesn’t deserve his reputation. 

“I knew I should have insisted on seeing you,” Pitch says; he too is looking at the picture. “I would have been able to give you the facts, and you could have made an informed decision. Instead, everything about this treaty is based on lies. I don’t see how it can stand.”

Jack shakes his head, frustrated. He hates this – he has a way out of the situation but only if he is willing for people to die because of his choice. Hardly a choice at all, but now it seems that even that is to be taken away from him.

He needs another option. He needs time to think about this.

“Isn’t there something we can do? Something to see if this is going to work? Like – like a trial run.”

“There is the promise month,” Pitch says slowly, frowning, and sits by Jack’s side. “Four weeks where the courtesan and king get to know one another, to be sure of their compatibility. Normally it happens before the ritual, but we didn’t have that luxury. And of course it is only a formality – the ritual always goes ahead.”

Jack’s eyes widen. If he can just have four weeks to think – four weeks where peace is guaranteed – he’ll be able to make a decision – and it will be _his_ decision. The thought is like a light in the darkness and he grasps desperately at it. 

“That’s perfect,” Jack says quickly. “We can do that. Both of us get the chance to get to know one another – why should we let Ben’s lies deny us that?”

“It doesn’t change the fact that he lied–”

“The treaty says that I chose you, right? So before you throw away this chance at peace, why don’t we see if I do choose you? Give me the chance that Ben and my father didn’t.”

Pitch still seems unsure, but his gaze is hungry as it roams Jack’s body. Jack’s still not sure how he feels about that, but maybe he can use it to his advantage. He licks his lips and forces a smile. “And – well, from what I’ve been able to tell, you’re a pretty good kisser. Are you going to deny me the chance of trying that again?”

Pitch looks at him and then, with a swift, smooth movement he pushes Jack onto the cushions and leans over him, capturing his lips in a kiss. Jack’s eyes flutter shut as Pitch’s hand goes to his hair, stroking gently through it. 

Just like before, Jack finds himself responding, arms going around Pitch’s waist. He settles deeper into the cushions, getting more comfortable. It means that Pitch has to shift as well, so that he is on top of Jack, their bodies pressed together. It feels _good_. A soft, startled moan escapes Jack’s lips. Pitch chuckles darkly at that and his fingers creep under the slit of Jack’s tunic, brushing against his skin. 

All of his worries and confusion are being eclipsed by hunger, and Jack moans and opens his mouth to Pitch, wanting more. Pitch gives it to him, thrusting his tongue into his mouth and flicking it against Jack’s, teasing little touches that make Jack dizzy. The hand beneath his tunic slides up Jack’s body until Pitch’s fingers brush over Jack’s nipple, making pleasure jolt through him. He moans, feeling himself start to get hard as Pitch continues his ministrations. Pitch must be able to feel it too, where their bodies are pressed close, but it feels too good for Jack to be embarrassed. While he has little experience in these matters, obviously that’s not the case for Pitch. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and when he squeezes Jack’s nipple, the tangle of pain and pleasure makes Jack cry out. 

And then Pitch moves away, getting to his feet and looking down at Jack coolly. Jack blinks up at him, feeling dazed. 

“Only _pretty good_?”

“Really good,” Jack manages. He’s startled by how much he wants more. A little afraid, too, of how strongly he responds to Pitch. He doesn’t understand it; it’s like a part of him that he never knew existed, one that he doesn’t have any control over.

Jack stands and tries to adjust his clothes to hide his half-hardness but it doesn’t work. Pitch’s grin is amused, and he steps forward to briefly slide his fingers under the tunic, chuckling when Jack’s breath catches. 

“So,” Pitch says, his expression sobering. “Four weeks. Are you sure about this?”

“I am,” Jack says, more decisively than he feels. 

“I’m still concerned that Benard and your father lied. Not to mention that they tried to force you into this,” he adds. He takes Jack’s hands and Jack is startled by the intensity in his eyes. “They thought that they were giving you to sexual slavery and they didn’t even blink. Can’t they see how precious you are?”

“You’ve only known me a day,” Jack says, blushing at Pitch’s sincerity. “It’s not like you know how – precious – I am, either.”

Pitch chuckles and inclines his head. “Very true. But I’ve been thinking about you for a long time, Jack. Since they gave me your portrait, I’ve been thinking about what you might be like. I suppose I’ve become – attached – to that version of you.”

“Maybe you should get to know the real me,” Jack says, wondering if Pitch will like who Jack really is as much as the version he’s imagined. He wonders if he wants him to.

“I intend to,” Pitch says, and kisses Jack softly once more. “I will be meeting with my advisors again tomorrow. We will decide how to proceed, but if you are willing to give this a chance for four weeks, then we can leave any retaliation until after you have made your choice. We will have peace until then at least.”

Jack nods, feeling more positive. If nothing else, he’s done that much – given both Umbra and Lunanoff a time of peace, and himself time to think.

“I will come to see you tomorrow after the meeting of the council. We will talk more then, Jack.” 

A last, lingering kiss and then Jack is alone. 

Not quite alone, Jack thinks, glancing up at the moon. He glares at it. 

“You put me here,” he says fiercely. “But this is going to be my choice.”

But right now, he has no idea what that choice is going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, thank you all so so much for your lovely comments and kudos. You're what keeps me writing.
> 
> And this is kind of unbelievable but there is _more amazing fanart_ for this fic! There is [sultry, seductive Jack](http://salt-and-peppershaker.tumblr.com/post/50279248513/fan-art-for-this-incredibly-good-fic-i-think) (unf!) by [salt-and-peppershaker](http://salt-and-peppershaker.tumblr.com). There is [sad, melancholy (and way hot) Jack](http://disobedient-nightmare.tumblr.com/post/50614964647/because-adelaide-rains-fanfic-is-amazing-and-i) by [disobedient-nightmare](http://disobedient-nightmare.tumblr.com). And then [sweetfrost](http://sweetfrost.tumblr.com) did [this stunning artwork](http://sweetfrost.tumblr.com/post/50762469406/from-todays-livestream-d-jack-the-courtesan) of the portrait of Jack that Pitch was given, which is pretty perfect for this chapter! I think we can all see why Pitch became 'attached' to his own personal headcanon of Jack based on this picture :D
> 
> I feel so incredibly lucky for all the support this fic is getting, thank you, everyone!


	4. Chapter 4

This is the first day I’ve chosen to be here, Jack thinks.

He’s sitting on the balcony with his breakfast, delivered while Jack was taking a bath. At the knock at the door he went into the main room wearing only a towel and the nervous young man who’d brought the food blushed the whole time, refusing to look at him. Jack’s already decided that he’s going to try and talk to him next time. Even if he’s going to be here for four weeks, he needs people to talk to. He needs friends. 

For now, though, he doesn’t mind a little time alone. He has a lot to think about. It’s only been a few days since he was running across the roof tops with Jamie but so much has changed. _He’s_ changed. He chose to take on this responsibility – something he’s always shied away from before. Is that why his father forced him into this rather than offering him the choice? Because he thought that Jack would be too selfish, too immature? 

Jack closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, breathing deeply. No. He’s not going to blame himself for this. And he’s not going to keep thinking about Lunanoff, either. He’s not going to dwell on the past. He’s here now; he’s going to make the most of it. 

After all, Umbra is an incredible place. Just his rooms are full of amazing things and there’s a whole world out there to explore. Even if he only goes out into the palace and the grounds, that will be as much freedom as he’s ever had. After all, he’s always been restricted by the dome; this is just a smaller dome. He just needs to convince Pitch to trust him. 

And Pitch – there is another thing to explore. He can’t stop replaying last night in his mind. What does it mean, the way his body reacts so readily to Pitch’s touch? His experiments with Jamie were just that; they were fuelled by curiosity, not – whatever this is. This is a roaring hearth fire, a fever, something completely out of his control that is terrifying and thrilling and he wants more. He wishes he knew more about sex. He barely even knows what he wants, other than kisses and touches and Pitch’s body against his. 

He sits for another moment, eating the last of the sweet, flaky bread, and then stands, wiping his hands on his robe and going to get the books. Bringing them out onto the balcony, he flicks to the intimate paintings of courtesans with their kings or queens. One of them has a young man is locked in an embrace with a queen who smiles at him with love in her eyes. Another is using their hand to pleasure their king – that at least is something Jack has a little experience of. But the painting that captures his attention has the courtesan using his mouth to pleasure the king. Jack touches the picture and tries to imagine doing that to Pitch. Would he like it? And what if Pitch did it to him – how would it feel? 

Biting his lip, Jack slides his hand down his body and reaches into his robe. He takes his cock in hand and starts to stroke it, feeling himself start to get hard. Closing his eyes, he thinks about what it would be like to have Pitch’s cock in his mouth, to feel the weight of it on his tongue. About how it would taste, about how Pitch would tangle his fingers in his hair–

There’s a knock at the door and Jack slams the book shut, scrambling to his feet and pulling his robe closed. Going into the main room he tries, uselessly, to stop himself from blushing, his mind reeling at the thought that he was touching himself while thinking about Pitch. 

Onyx enters first and she smiles warmly at him. “How are you feeling today, Jack?”

“Good, thanks,” Jack says with a weak smile, and turns to greet Pitch – but it’s not Pitch who enters. It’s a woman who is like no-one he has seen in Umbra. Hair the colour of rust, skin as white as milk. Her dress is scarlet, flowing down to the floor in layers that dance like fire as she walks. And then there is the eyepatch over her left eye, covered in intricate beadwork that matches the pattern of her necklace. She’s incredibly striking, a burst of colour in this monochrome world. 

She smiles at him and offers her hand. Jack looks at it, remembering Monty’s words about no-one but the king being allowed to touch him. He looks at Onyx and sees her lips twitch into a half smile. 

“Jack, this is Amber, the Royal Dresser. As she is the one who’ll dress you and prepare you for the day, she’s the only one other than the king who is allowed to touch you. That’s why I’m here, as a chaperone.”

Amber laughs and puts her hands on her hips. “Thanks for that introduction, Onyx, it’s always best to scare the living daylights out of people the moment they meet me.”

“It’s just tradition,” Onyx says, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry, Jack - Pitch wouldn’t let her anywhere near you if he didn’t trust her completely.”

“Okay,” Jack says, amused by seeing the always professional Onyx so easily irked. 

“Is that breakfast?” Amber is looking out onto the balcony. “Do you have anything spare? I was so busy getting things finished that I didn’t have time this morning.”

“Sure,” Jack says, at the same time that Onyx gives a mortified gasp of “Amber!”

“Oh please,” Amber says, going out onto the balcony and picking up a pastry. “There’s enough here to feed a damn battalion.”

“That’s beside the point,” Onyx says, and pauses to take a deep breath, putting her hand over her eyes. “You always do this-“

“Then you should be used to it by now. Here, have a berry.”

“I don’t want a berry-“

“You love berries. Take it. Jack won’t mind.”

Jack can’t help a laugh and he nods. “Please, take it,” he says, waving for Onyx to take it. She does, looking guilty, and then pushes Amber back into the room. 

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Onyx says, licking the purplish berry juice off her fingers like she’s getting rid of the evidence of a crime.

“Don’t worry about it. There’s more than enough food – I don’t mind sharing.” 

They’re interrupted as a rail of clothes is pushed through the door by a footman, followed by a large wooden box. The clothes are all in shades of white, blue and black, mostly sheer. Jack spies some beading and embroidery but mostly they are as simple as the other clothes he’s seen since arriving in Umbra. 

“I guess that means it’s time to get down to business,” Amber says, gesturing at the rail. “So here’s what I do, Jack. Every morning I’ll come here and dress you, get you ready for the day. I made these over the last couple of months, based on the king’s preferences and the measurements that the dressers in Lunanoff provided.”

The mention of Lunanoff providing the measurements months ago makes Jack’s chest tighten but he breathes deep, determined not to let it hurt him. Instead he turns to the rail and looks through the clothes. They’re mostly robes, some tunics and trousers. They’re far simpler than any of the things he wore at home, or at least the things he was _supposed_ to wear at home. He usually stripped off most of the layers the minute he was away from the dressers, and his preferred outfits were simple trousers and shirts, maybe with a waistcoat – things that made it easy to run and jump and have fun. 

“What do you think?” Amber asks. “Do you like them? Pretty as you’ll look in all of these, I want you to feel comfortable too.”

“I get a say?” Jack looks at her, startled. Since he didn’t get a say in what he wore as a prince, he never expected to get that opportunity as a courtesan. 

“Of course you do,” she says, smiling at him and putting her hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been told how you ended up here. That makes it even more important that you’re wearing things that you like. The king’s wishes are important, but yours are too. The only rules for a courtesans wardrobe are no sleeves and no shoes, weather permitting.”

Jack blinks and looks at the clothes. Being able to explore the palace is what he was thinking of in terms of freedom, but this is a kind of freedom too. He smiles, surprised at how much it means to him. 

“They’re all nice,” he says, taking one of them off the rail and putting it against his body. It’s sky blue with a deep v-neck, fastened at the waist with a silver and opal clasp. It’s beautiful and it’s also almost entirely sheer. “Uh- maybe something a little less revealing?”

“We can do that,” Amber says, reaching for a silver-white robe with embroidery around the neck. “I can put in more layers but for today you could wear this with it.”

“What do I wear under it?”

“It’s designed to be worn over underwear,” she says with a shrug. “It’s supposed to be provocative. Teasing.”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “Pitch likes that? Teasing?” 

“Judging from what he wants to see you wearing, I’d say so,” Amber says with a laugh, and Jack looks at the robe again. Sheer as it is, it wouldn’t leave much to the imagination. “Honestly, though, if you prefer to wear trousers and a tunic underneath, I’m sure he won’t mind – I don’t think he’d care whatever you wore. Why don’t we see what it looks like?”

She moves forward, reaching for the belt of his robe and he jerks back. 

The memory of being stripped in the temple in Lunanoff flashes into his mind and panic wraps around his chest like iron bands, making it hard to breathe. 

“Can I dress myself? Just for today? Please?” He feels a little embarrassed about asking, especially when Amber seems so nice, but he just wants a little privacy. He just wants to feel like a person, not a courtesan or a commodity. 

After a moment of looking at him, startled, Amber gives him a gentle smile and nods. “Of course,” she says and kneels down to open the chest. It’s full of clothes, underwear and leggings and simple tops. “Take anything you’d like. Whatever you’d feel comfortable in.”

Jack takes them into the bathroom and shuts the door, closing his eyes against the whispers of panic. He breathes deeply until the tightness around his chest eases and then opens his eyes, looks into the mirror. 

“It’s okay,” he tells himself, and his reflection gives him a small smile as though not entirely convinced. “It’s going to be okay,” he corrects, and that makes him smile wider, if only because of the silliness of talking to himself. 

He looks at the clothes in his arms and starts to put them on. Having a top under the two robes is too bulky, so he ends up with just a pair of close-fitting trews. The robes are sheer enough that his skin can be glimpsed beneath the layers but covers him enough that he’s comfortable. 

Is this teasing, then? And Pitch likes that? Jack has plenty of experience teasing his friends and family but he guesses this is something different. He grins at his reflection. It still sounds like it might be fun.

Turning this way and that, he’s surprised by how much he likes the outfit. The robes are lightweight enough that he can move easily in them, and the blue matches his eyes. His arms are bare and the deep v-necks – down to his waist on the blue one, his sternum on the white – mean that his collar is on show. He touches it, loops a finger around the ring fastened to the front. The metal is cool and smooth. He tries to put a name to the way he feels about it, but his emotions are hopelessly knotted. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells himself again, and this time his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. Part of him wishes he had time to think things through, but then thinking about things has never been his strong point. Maybe he just needs to distract himself with action. Remembering what he was doing before Onyx and Amber arrived gives him an idea of what sort of thing might distract him, and he blushes, flashing an embarrassed grin at his reflection before turning away. 

Before he can get caught up in his thoughts again, he steps back into the room and spreads his arms wide. “What do you think?” 

“Gorgeous!” Amber grins at him and comes over to adjust the robes slightly. She looks delighted that her creations suit him so well. 

“I think Pitch will like that very much,” Onyx says, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“So it’s suitably teasing?” Jack asks with a grin, and she laughs lightly. 

“Definitely.”

Amber continues getting him ready for the day. He agrees to having his ears and lip pierced again, and the sting is quickly overcome by a spicy potion that soothes them instantly. The delicate silver and opal earrings are so light that he barely notices them; the simple silver ring through his lip will take some getting used to but as he prods at it with his tongue he decides he likes it. She paints his nails silver and then stands back to admire her handiwork. 

“So,” he says. “Should I try teasing Pitch?”

Amber finishes putting silver slides into his hair and then sits back to look at him. “That depends on what you want him to do,” she says, and Jack feels a blush spread over his cheeks. 

“He- he kissed me last night. Maybe that again?” _Maybe more,_ a hungry voice whispers and Jack’s blush deepens.

“You could just ask him,” Amber says with a laugh. She stands and pulls Jack to his feet, walking around him for one last check and then she nods, satisfied. “You look stunning. If you want him to kiss you, I don’t think you’ll have to do much to persuade him.”

After they leave, Jack looks at his reflection again, admiring his new jewellery, but barely a moment later there’s another knock at the door. 

This time it is Pitch, and the instant he steps into the room Jack is glad that he decided not to wear a top beneath the robes. Pitch’s eyes roam his skin hungrily, and he steps forward to take Jack’s hand in his, planting a kiss to the back of it. 

“How are you feeling today, Jack?”

Jack opens his mouth to say _fine_ but then shuts it again. “I don’t know. How are you supposed to feel when you’ve been given away by your family? Betrayed. Scared. People keep calling me brave but I don’t feel brave.” 

Pitch is still holding his hand and he strokes the back of it with his thumb. “You chose to stay here when you could have left. That is brave, Jack.”

“Maybe,” he says quietly, and shakes his head, giving Pitch a weak smile. “So what do you think of my outfit? Amber did a pretty good job, huh?”

For a long moment, Pitch looks at him, but then nods, letting Jack change the subject. “She did. You look lovely.”

“So what are we going to do now that I’m all dressed up?”

“We could go out into the gardens,” Pitch says. “I thought it might be nice for you to see something outside of your rooms.”

The thought of going outside lightens the weight on Jack’s heart and his smile widens. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Excellent.” 

Pitch takes the golden chain that acted as a leash from the wall, and Jack’s enthusiasm is muted. After attaching the leash, Pitch pulls Jack’s arms behind his back, connecting the cuffs. 

“You don’t trust me,” Jack murmurs.

“Not entirely,” Pitch says, looking down at him. “Do you trust me?”

Jack’s lips twitch into a smile. “Not entirely.”

Pitch takes hold of the leash and a protest is on Jack’s lips, but he closes his mouth. He’s not sure how he feels about it. It’s part of a tradition that he doesn’t really understand – the role of courtesan is complex and his reading so far has barely scratched the surface. He has read enough to know that courtesans don’t always wear a leash, and he wonders if one day Pitch will let him go without. And then there’s something deep within him that likes it; it’s the same part of him that responds to Pitch so hungrily, and Jack has absolutely no idea what to make of it. 

When they go out into the corridor, Jack is startled all over again by the size of the place. There are enormous windows, almost from the floor to the ceiling, and they have a wonderful view of the gardens. Jack feels a rush of excitement at the thought of truly being outside for the first time in his life.

"What do you think of my palace?" Pitch asks, jerking Jack from his thoughts. "It must be different to your own."

"It's different but I like it," Jack says, honestly. "It's simpler. Subtler."

Pitch laughs softly, and the sound of it makes Jack shiver with pleasure. "The idea of any palace being subtle is somewhat amusing."

"Yeah, well, you’ve not seen Lunanoff."

They walk in silence for a moment and then Pitch says, "Do you think you could be happy here? If you decide to stay?"

Jack pauses, trying to decide how to answer. It’s difficult when he’s not even sure how he feels. "It's people who make me happy, not places. So I guess that depends on you."

"I suppose so," Pitch says, a thoughtful note in his voice.

The corridor comes into an end into a hall so huge that Jack can barely believe that it’s real. It’s as big as an entire wing of the palace in Lunanoff, Jack’s sure of it. It’s as simple as the rest of the palace, with the same dark stone and simple geometric patterns except for the ceiling, which is painted to resemble a night sky. The constellations are marked out with their names beside them, and Jack is surprised to see that they are the same names he knows. He’s been brought up to think of Umbra as a strange, alien place; but the more he sees of it, the more he is realising that the differences are only superficial; that they’re not so different after all. 

Two grand staircases lead down to the ground floor and Pitch leads Jack down one of them, though Jack can’t stop looking around at the incredible hall, trying to take in everything. 

They approach huge doors, guards standing at either side. They bow to Pitch and pull open the doors without uttering a single word. 

The instant they step outside, all of Jack’s doubts and worries melt away. He closes his eyes and turns his face to the sun, feeling its warm, golden glow filling him. The wind dances around him, playing over his skin and whispering in his ears. His lips curve into a smile as peace chases the last of his fears away. 

When he opens his eyes, Pitch is looking at him wonderingly. “You really do love being out here, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jack says, and looks out over the gardens, smiling. “It feels good. It feels right. I guess it’s something to do with my magic. Weather magic – it’s all part of nature. Even though my magic’s still bound, I can feel a – a connection.”

Pitch looks as though he wants to say something but thinks better of it. Instead he presses a kiss to Jack’s forehead and leads him down the stairs. The stone is pleasantly warm beneath Jack’s feet. Still holding the leash in one hand, Pitch falls into step with Jack and slides the other arm around Jack’s shoulders. What a strange mixture of affection this is, Jack thinks, and stranger still that he likes it. He wishes he could go without the cuffs being linked, though. If his hands were free-

_If my hands were free I’d grab Pitch by the lapels and kiss him_ , Jack thinks, want rising in him, sudden and fierce. He feels heat in his cheeks and looks away, hoping Pitch won’t see. 

“You’re blushing,” Pitch says; so much for that. “What are you thinking?”

“I, uh,” Jack says, groping for less embarrassing responses but theyevade him. “I was thinking about last night. When you kissed me.”

“Oh yes?” Pitch’s grin widens. “You liked that, did you?”

“I liked it a lot,” Jack says, and the heat in his cheeks flares. He looks up at Pitch and gives him a smile that is far more confident than he feels. “Maybe we could do it again.” 

Pitch stops and looks at Jack for a long moment before pulling him closer and kissing him. Jack tugs at his cuffs, wanting to put his arms around Pitch, but his frustration is quickly defused as the heat of the kiss burns away everything else. When Pitch pulls away, Jack is gasping and half-hard, and the little smile that Pitch gives him only makes him even more frustrated. 

“When we get to your garden, I’m going to ravish you,” Pitch murmurs. 

It takes Jack’s dazed mind a few moments to realise what Pitch just said. "My - my garden?"

"The courtesan’s garden,” Pitch says, setting off again. “When the royal family moved to this palace after the Great War, the courtesan missed the beautiful gardens of the old palace so much that the king built her a garden of her own, full of beautiful flowers to make her smile again."

Jack wonders if Pitch would do something like that for him; judging from his actions so far, he’s fairly sure he would. 

"This hasn't always been the main palace?" Jack asks. He looks over his shoulder and sees the palace from the outside for the first time. It’s _immense_ , far bigger than any building Jack has ever seen. It is pale grey with a black roof, six pointed turrets stretching into the cloudless sky. Much like the interior it is simple but beautiful, and Jack just stares at for a long moment. It seems like something out of a fairy tale, as unreal as people from the stars or the moon god. “It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

"It used to be the summer palace, for when the heat on the coast got too much."

Seasons, Jack thinks, startled again. If he stays here, he’ll see the seasons change. In Lunanoff it is always comfortable, neither hot nor cold, never changing. The size of the palace and now the thought of seasons make him feel strange, like he’s dreaming or drunk. 

“What season is it now?”

"The beginning of autumn," Pitch says and points to the distant forest. A handful of leaves are beginning to change colour and they stand out amid the green.

"And they'll all change?"

"Yes," Pitch says. "In a month's time, most of them will have fallen and the weather will be turning. If you stay, you'll see winter."

"And snow," Jack says softly, then gives a small smile, thinking of what he’s seen in paintings and stories. "I'd like to see that."

"It's your choice, Jack."

He looks up at Pitch and smiles. “It is, isn’t it?”

They walk a little further, and as they reach the crest of the hill, Pitch points and says, “The courtesan’s garden.”

On the edge of a copse of trees, Jack sees a wall covered in ivy a little pool of privacy in the otherwise open gardens. As they approach, Pitch leads him around a corner to a wooden door with curling greenery carved into it. Withdrawing a key from the depths of his robe, he inserts it into the lock, which clicks loudly as it opens. 

They step inside and Jack looks around with wide eyes. The garden is a riot of colour, a complete contrast to the palace. Grass and moss make a soft carpet for a courtesan’s bare feet. Flowering vines creep up trestles, beds of roses and lavender and plants that Jack has no name for are everywhere. Lunanoff doesn’t grow plants for the sake of beauty, only for crops, so his knowledge of their names is lacking, but whatever they are called, they are beautiful. Lunanoff can keep its ostentatious decor; this is true grandeur.

"Do you like it?" Pitch asks, looking at Jack carefully as though seeking approval, and Jack grins up at him.

"It’s beautiful."

"Yes," Pitch says. "But not nearly as lovely as my courtesan."

Jack can’t help but laugh at that. “Really? That’s kind of sappy.”

Pitch stares at him for a moment, and then gives a crooked smile. “You are very different to how I thought you’d be. I have a lot to learn about you.”

“That kind of makes us even then,” Jack says. “Because I don’t know anything about you, either.”

“Then we can learn together,” Pitch says. “And I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

He leans down to press their lips together. 

Jack feels a flutter of fear but pushes it away. Closing his eyes, he feels a sudden rush of courage and slides his tongue along Pitch’s top lip. Pitch makes an approving noise and flicks his tongue against Jack’s, bites gently at his bottom lip. His arms go around Jack’s waist, and Jack wants to return the gesture but he can’t with his hands cuffed behind his back. 

At his groan of frustration, Pitch pulls back slightly. “Is something the matter?”

"This is kind of a pain with my hands behind my back."

Pitch hesitates and then with a single touch to the cuffs, Jack’s wrists are released. Pulling them around to the front, he rolls his shoulders to release the tension and then realises that there was nothing to hold the cuffs together.

“Where’s the chain?”

“There wasn’t a chain,” Pitch says, pulling Jack’s hands in front of him and touching them again. A shadow slides from beneath one of the cuffs and loops between the two rings of the cuffs. Jack pulls, hard, but the shadow is as strong as steel. 

“Your magic,” Jack murmurs. 

“Yes; control over shadows is a very versatile kind of magic. There are many different uses for it –some more pleasurable than others.”

Jack hitches an eyebrow. “Pleasurable?”

Pitch grins at him. “You’ll see,” he promises, and Jack blinks, curiosity rising in him like smoke. He tries to imagine what Pitch might mean but fails. He’s looking forward to finding out. With another touch of Pitch’s fingers to the cuffs, the shadow dissolves and Jack’s wrists are free again.

Jack reaches up to slide his hands around the back of Pitch’s neck and stands on his tiptoes to kiss him, a thank you. This is the first time that he’s kissed Pitch and nervousness laps at him, but it quickly dissolves when Pitch responds, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist and biting gently at his bottom lip. He leaves a trail of kisses up Jack’s jawline and bites his neck above the collar. It’s not entirely gentle and it makes Jack shiver, startled by the way that the pain overlaps with pleasure. 

"You like this don't you?" Pitch whispers, and Jack nods eagerly.

"Yes," he breathes, his hands curling in Pitch’s robe.

"Even though you didn't want to be here - you want this?" And he realises that Pitch is seeing if he genuinely wants this - that he's not forcing him into anything - and his mouth opens but he can’t form words. Pitch _cares_ about him. He’s said that before but it’s one thing it say it, another entirely to see it. 

"I want it," Jack says, then pauses. "I don't- I've not done anything before. I don't know- All that stuff in the books, I have no idea about-" he stops and squeezes his eyes shut. Why is it so hard to explain?

"We'll take it slowly," Pitch murmurs, and resumes kissing and biting. "If you want me to stop, just say."

"Yeah? You’re okay with that? Me not knowing anything – stopping if I want you to?"

Pitch pulls back. "Of course. I thought the books made it clear. A courtesan’s role is not just to provide physical pleasure."

"I know, but that’s part of it. And they usually know more than _nothing_."

"I don't care how much you know," Pitch says, shaking his head. "That can be learned. All I want is you. Don't worry; let me lead." He bites at Jack's earlobe and he yelps, startled at how good it feels. Pitch smirks at him. "Sensitive?"

"Yeah," Jack gasps, his hands tangling in Pitch’s robes. "So keep doing it."

“You say that you don’t have much experience but that’s not stopping you from wanting it-“

“Yeah, I want it so please-“

Jack’s begging is stopped abruptly when Pitch pushes him against the wall and kisses him, hard. He’s cushioned by the flowers and their scent wraps around him, heady and intoxicating. Pitch presses his tongue into Jack’s mouth, making him whimper. His hands return to the back of Pitch’s neck, not wanting him to move away again and he opens his mouth for Pitch, licks back, strokes Pitch’s tongue with his own. Pressing his hips against Pitch’s, he moans to feel Pitch’s cock, hard against his own. 

Abruptly Pitch moves away and pulls on Jack’s leash, leading him to a wide wooden bench. Being pulled by the leash like that confirms all of Jack’s earlier thoughts – it can feel good. It makes him want to do anything Pitch asks of him, go anywhere he wants to take him, to follow him and kneel by his feet and lean his face into his hip-

Jack’s thoughts are derailed when Pitch pushes him down onto the bench and climbs on top of him. It felt good to have Pitch’s weight on top of him last night and it feels even better now, already turned on and touch-hungry. He moans, his hands scrabbling at the soft fabric of Pitch’s robes. 

Pitch’s hands roam over his body and Jack’s robes are so thin that Jack can feel everything. When Pitch’s hand slides lower, ghosting over Jack’s cock through the trews, he cries out, his back arching off the bench.

“You like that,” Pitch purrs, and Jack nods frantically, not knowing or caring if it was a question. 

Pitch continues to stroke him, with different pressures, concentrating on different parts of his cock and balls, until Jack is a whimpering, whispering mess. He could come from this, and he’s not even being touched, not really. 

When Pitch’s hands move away, he’s not sure whether to be glad or not, but there’s barely a moment of relief before his fingers slide under the neck of his robes to tease at his nipples. 

“Please,” he begs, almost a sob. “Don’t stop - I need-“

Pitch chuckles and kisses him again, his hands tangling in Jack’s hair. His hips are pressed against Jack’s and he moves, ever so slightly, just enough to get Jack whimpering again. He echoes Pitch’s movements, circles his hips against Pitch’s and gets an approving rumble for his efforts. 

“That’s good, Jack,” Pitch murmurs against his lips. “So good.”

Jack can only reply wordlessly, grinding his hips against Pitch’s. Moving together, they get a good rhythm going and the last of Jack’s ability to think evaporates. He’s being weighed down and he can’t escape, he doesn’t want to. This is what he wants: to not think, to not feel any doubt or hurt. All he can feel is pleasure, and he sinks into it like a warm, dark ocean. 

Pitch kisses him, bites at his lip, keeps running his hands up Jack’s torso, and all the different sensations just pull him deeper. Nothing matters but the two of them, everything is good, it’s perfect–

And then suddenly Pitch’s hand is on Jack’s cock, skin to skin. He cries out, fucking into Pitch’s hand. It’s so much more intense like this and in less than a minute he is crying out as he comes, his hand squeezing Pitch’s arm so hard that he grunts in pain. Pleasure overwhelms him and he’s unable to do anything but whimper and let it carry him where it will. He slumps down on the bench, gasping and feeling dazed, lost in a warm and pleasant place. 

He hears Pitch cry out as well, feels drops of warmth on his stomach and chest, and then Pitch’s weight on top of him, gasping in his ear. 

When Jack can move again he slides his arms around Pitch, tucking his thumbs into the belt. He still can’t think properly and he’s more than happy with that this fuzzy satisfaction. 

“That- that wasn’t quite what I intended when I brought you here,” Pitch says without moving, breathing a laugh and stroking his fingers through Jack’s hair. 

Jack grins and they lie there for a long while, listening to their breathing. 

Pitch pushes himself up and looks down at them. Both of their robes are a mess, covered in come. He stands up, wincing, and pulls off his robe. Beneath he wears only trousers, unfastened. Jack stares at his softening cock and reaches out to touch it, stroking his fingers down its length. Pitch lets out a shaky breath and pushes Jack’s hand away. 

“I’m a little sensitive at the moment.”

Jack lets Pitch strip him of the blue robe; the white one is still mostly clean. He smiles up at Pitch, enjoying the last of this lovely numbness. 

“Are you alright?” Pitch asks as he folds their robes. 

“Yes,” Jack says, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I mean- It helped. Everything that’s happened – all the things I can’t stop thinking about – it made them all disappear for a while. I’m still kinda nervous about the whole – physical pleasure thing. But it really helped.”

“It’s better than thinking,” Pitch says, as though he knows exactly what Jack means. Putting the robes down, he pulls Jack into his arms, kissing him gently. “Sometimes losing yourself in the physical can be a perfect distraction from the mental.” He looks pensive for a moment, and Jack wonders what he’s thinking about. Maybe he needs a little distracting himself.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s it exactly.”

Pitch smiles down at him and kisses him softly. “I would be more than happy to help you distract yourself, anytime you like.”

Jack laughs and ducks his head to hide the blush that spreads across his cheeks. “I’ll let you know.”

This is nothing like he expected to happen today, but he’s glad it did. 

He was expecting the first time they made each other come to be an uncertain, muddled experience, but it was good. It was better than good, and better still because he feels more confident now, he feels like he can do this, if he decides to stay. 

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of this chapter was nothing like what I planned for it to be, but I hope it was enjoyable!
> 
> I've had quite a few questions about the world of this fic over on tumblr; if you're interested in learning more about Umbra and Lunanoff, you can find the answers [here](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/comments).
> 
> And unbelievably, there has been even more fantastic art for this fic! Too many to list here (especially since I stayed up til almost 3am to finish this xD), but please, please make sure that you take a look at [all of them](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what), they're unbearably beautiful and I am so grateful for every single one of them <3


	5. Chapter 5

Jack is blindfolded. It’s a thin strip of material, made for prettiness rather than blocking out the light, but he’s happy to play along. Beneath his feet Jack can feel as they move from sun-warmed stone to grass, though he doesn’t know the palace grounds nearly enough to guess where they might be going. There is bird song in the air and the breeze is cool against his skin. It’s only been a week since Pitch took him to the courtesan’s garden and already he can feel a change in the temperature. With a thrill he wonders if there might be frost soon. 

Pitch is leading him by the leash and by the hand. Over the past week Jack’s gotten used to the leash. It makes him feel almost safe, knowing that Pitch is taking the lead; he can’t misstep because he’s following in someone else’s footsteps. 

He likes Pitch taking the lead in other areas, too, Jack thinks, and smiles. Though Jack always sets the limits – which so far has been nothing more than Pitch pleasuring Jack with his hand – Pitch always takes control, letting Jack lie back and just _feel_ as he is brought to shivering climax. It has the twofold benefit of distracting him from less than pleasant thoughts while also feeling incredible. Jack wonders what will happen today just as they come to a stop. 

“I’m going to take your blindfold off,” Pitch says; he’s close enough that Jack can feel his body heat. 

The cloth is removed from Jack’s eyes, catching slightly on the silver slides in his hair. At first he sees only Pitch, standing before him, the pale grey skin of his chest revealed by the deep v of his robe. Jack lifts a hand to touch him, running his fingers from smooth skin to soft cloth. He looks up to see fierce possessiveness flare in Pitch’s eyes. Jack’s own smile widens. He might not used to having someone look at him like that but he likes it, a lot. 

Grinning up at Pitch, he cocks his head. “So do you always blindfold boys and take them out into the middle of nowhere?”

“Only you, Jack.” 

Jack’s caught off-guard by the feeling in Pitch’s voice. His own want rises and he pushes onto his tiptoes to kiss Pitch, just briefly. Now it is Pitch who is off his guard. “Glad to hear it,” he says, dropping back to the ground, but Pitch is not done with him. He slides his hand around Jack’s waist to splay at his lower back, tugging him in against Pitch’s body. It’s a dizzying kiss, thoroughly claiming, and when Pitch pulls back, Jack’s a little breathless. 

“While your pleasure is always a part of my plans, I brought you here for another reason,” Pitch says, standing aside so that Jack can see–

Water. More water than Jack has ever seen, ever imagined. 

It stretches out before him, grey-blue, with sunlight dancing on the rippling surface. Around the distant edge of the lake, trees grow up to the shoreline, yellow and red leaves dotted amongst the green like splashes from a clumsy painter. The whole thing looks like a painting, Jack thinks. As though he could reach out and touch the canvas. 

This is why he’s here: for water. But instead of feeling angry or reliving the betrayal he just feels sad.

Even someone who pays as little attention in class as he does knows that most of the water on the planet is tainted. The Great War was ended by a powerful spell that spun out of control, rendering half the world inhabitable and tainting water supplies all over the planet. Three hundred years later, people are still paying the price of one man’s arrogance. 

The first time Jack had been told the tale, he had questioned why the mage had used a spell that could destroy so much. _It was war,_ was the only answer he ever got. Standing here before this life-giving lake, he understands that answer even less.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispers, feeling more reverent than he ever has in a temple. 

“I’m glad you think so,” Pitch says, kissing Jack’s temple and leading him to a tent by the lakeside; a wooden frame covered in black cloth, its edge golden with embroidery. The cloth at the front is tied to the poles so that they can enjoy the view and within there is a low table and a cosy nest of cushions. Pulling Jack down onto them, Pitch removes his leash and taps a bell with one long finger.

Servants enter the tent to pour them wine and serve them an array of spicy-smelling dishes, spreading them out on the table in jewel-coloured bowls. Following Pitch’s lead, Jack samples each of them. Some are familiar, some are strange, almost all are delicious. The wine is rich and strong, and by the time the food is gone Jack’s head feels pleasantly fuzzy. He settles back on the cushions and gazes out at the play of sunlight on water as Pitch’s arm slides over his shoulders. Pitch dismisses the servants and shifts to get more comfortable by Jack’s side. 

“Do you like it here?” Pitch asks.

Jack _hmms_ his agreement. How could he not? His belly is full and he is tipsy, he feels safe and cared for. Add to that the view and he couldn’t be more content. 

“What else would you like to see?” Pitch asks. 

“What else is there?”

“Other lakes. Waterfalls, rose gardens. Meadows and woodlands.”

“I’d like to see all of it,” Jack says, finishing his wine and pouring more. “I want to see everything.”

“Anything you want, Jack,” Pitch says, his fingers idly tracing the lines of Jack’s marking. Jack watches for a moment and then reaches for Pitch’s other hand. Turning it palm up, he examines it.

“In Lunanoff, some people believe you can tell a person’s heart by reading the lines of their palm.” 

“Oh? And what does mine say?”

Jack grins up at him. “Well, I never really paid attention to lessons. But if I had to guess I’d say that they tell of a man who’s not as bad as people think. Who’s actually kind of nice.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called _nice_ before,” Pitch says, giving him an amused smile.

“You’re nice to me. Especially for someone called the Nightmare King.”

“The Nightmare King?” Pitch laughs, sounding delighted. “There’s a name I’ve not heard in a while. But then they never did say it to my face.”

“Then what do people call you?”

“Your highness,” Pitch says with a smirk. 

“Or _my king_ ,” Jack says, remembering Pitch’s words on that first day. Something flares in Pitch’s eyes then, intense and bright. Want, Jack thinks. He wants me. He’s seen it every day but it’s still flattering, and every time Jack’s body responds, heat unfurling at the base of his spine. 

Jack sips his wine and looks out at the dance of the sunlight on the surface of the lake. Daily, Jack has felt how much pleasure Pitch’s hands can bring him, but now he thinks of the courtesan book, with its vivid illustrations of things that are still a mystery. Out of the corner of his eye he looks at Pitch: he’s done all of them and more, Jack is sure. And he seems like the kind of man who endeavours to excel in all things. It wouldn’t be so bad if Jack took advantage of that, would it? After all, it’s what Pitch wants, too.

“If you could do anything,” Jack says, staring steadfastly out at the lake; if he were looking at Pitch he might lose his nerve. “To me. Right now. What would you do?”

Pitch’s silence stretches out and eventually Jack has to look at him. When he does, the smile he sees on Pitch’s lips has the curious effect of both unnerving him and making heat spread throughout his body.

“Not that I’d let you do _anything_ ,” Jack says quickly. As much as he wants to know all there is to know about the pleasure Pitch can bring him, he still wants to be able to set limits, to take things as slowly as he needs to. “Just- In theory.”

“In theory,” Pitch repeats. “Alright then. If you were to let me, I would push your legs apart, pull your cock out of your trews and taste you. I’d make you come with my mouth, and then I’d kiss you so that you’d taste yourself. If you were to let me do what I wanted.”

Jack’s eyes widen and he can feel himself getting hard at the thought of it. “Alright,” he says, swallowing thickly. Pushing his robe aside, he parts his legs and gives Pitch a smile, his increasing desire fuelling his confidence. “I’ll let you do that.”

Pitch smiles, slow and dangerous, and moves between Jack’s legs, pushing them further apart until Jack can feel the stretch. He starts to stroke Jack’s inner thigh along the seam of his trews, and Jack draws in a slow breath. Even through the fabric it feels as though Pitch’s fingers are leaving a trail of sparks along his skin. 

As he continues with featherlight touches, never quite reaching high enough, Jack gets harder and more breathless, startled that such soft touches can elicit such a reaction. When Jack gives a broken little moan Pitch gives a velvet laugh and leans over Jack to kiss him. Jack opens his mouth instantly, wanting the kind of kiss that will leave him shaking and unable to think. Pitch takes the invitation, tugging on Jack’s hair to move him to where he wants him.

Both of them are breathing heavily by the time he moves back, and he gives Jack a wicked grin as he starts to trace the lines of Jack’s cock through his trousers. Jack swallows down a groan as long fingers ghost up and down his shaft, drifting over his balls and underneath to the sensitive space between his legs. His movements are slow and whisper-soft, not nearly enough to sate Jack’s rapidly growing need. 

“Get on with it,” Jack gasps when Pitch shows no intention of anything further.

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?”

“Never.”

“Then I’ll have to make sure I make your first time memorable.”

“Yes please,” Jack says, and though he’s half-joking, Pitch’s gaze jumps up to him, his eyes full of golden fire. “My king,” Jack whispers, and Pitch leans down to kiss him, a hand pulling on Jack’s hair and making him gasp. Pitch’s tongue pushes into Jack’s mouth, claiming, and Jack tangles his fingers in Pitch’s robe, willingly ceding control. 

“My courtesan,” Pitch purrs, looking at Jack with so much longing that his breath catches in his throat. Pitch leans in and his kiss is sweeter this time; he bites gently at Jack’s bottom lip before moving back to unbutton Jack’s trews. Jack watches intently, feeling his heartbeat in his throat as Pitch pulls out his cock. 

Pitch pushes his legs apart and settles between them. Jack has only a moment to be amused by the thought of a king prostrating himself like this before a courtesan; but then Pitch licks a stripe up Jack’s shaft and his ability to think evaporates. His tongue is warm and wet, not like anything Jack’s ever felt before. Pitch doesn’t give him any time to get used to the feeling; holding him tightly around the base of his cock, Pitch licks him all over, his tongue darting into his slit, following the ridge under the head. The different sensations pile on top of one another and when Pitch wraps his lips around the head, Jack cries out, a hand reaching for Pitch’s hair. 

Pitch pulls away and gives Jack a wide, dangerous smile. “Now, now, Jack, none of that. Be a good boy or I’ll have to tie you up.”

Jack pauses, a thrill echoing through him at the words, at the thought of being restrained like that. He wants Pitch in control. If Pitch is in control then Jack doesn’t have to worry about anything, all he has to do is lie back and enjoy it. “I think I’d like that,” he says softly.

Pitch looks at him for a long moment and then kisses him fiercely. Jack feels something tug at his cuffs and he pulls back from Pitch to see shadows wrapped around the rings, pulling his hands above his head. The sight and the feel of it makes his cock throb.

“If you want releasing-” Pitch starts, but Jack nods eagerly. 

“I want releasing, I tell you. I got it,” Jack says, breathless, impatient for Pitch to continue. 

He doesn’t disappoint. Returning to his task, he runs his tongue over Jack’s shaft until it is glistening and then slides his lips over the head once more, slowly taking Jack’s cock into his mouth. His tongue continues to tease and Jack groans, collapsing back against the cushions. 

He closes his eyes, trying to focus on how this feels. Wet. Hot. Slick. A hundred other things that Jack’s brain is too distracted to name. Pitch pulls all the way back, licking over the head and smiling up at Jack before taking him in his mouth again. Jack whimpers as Pitch continues, wrapping one hand tightly around the base of Jack’s cock while the other snakes up Jack’s body, slipping under his robe to tease at his nipples. 

All Jack can do is lie there, subject to Pitch’s ministrations, getting steadily noisier as the pleasure melts away all restraint. 

And then he comes, his back arching and stars whirling behind his eyelids. He pulls at his restraints as pleasure crashes over him, consuming him, filling him. The intensity of it takes him by surprise, pulsing through him. When it ebbs away he feels almost empty but in a good way. Shining and new, all the pain burned away in a flash of pleasure, at least for now. 

“Gods,” he whispers, falling against the cushions. He’s shivering and Pitch kisses his way up his body, looking into his eyes searchingly, and then kisses him softly. Feeling fuzzy, Jack kisses back and feels the emptiness settle. Pitch pulls back to look at him again, and this time he smiles. 

“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he says, stroking Jack’s cheek. “You’re always beautiful.”

Kissing him once more, he slides his tongue into Jack’s mouth. With a start, Jack realises that he is tasting his come on Pitch’s tongue. He’s tasted himself before, struck by curiosity after pleasuring himself; but tasting himself on Pitch’s mouth is another thing entirely and he shivers pleasantly.

Jack feels Pitch reach between their bodies as he continues to kiss Jack, feels him begin to stroke himself. 

“Let me,” he whispers, and Pitch pauses to look at him closely before reaching up to release Jack’s wrists. He kisses each one in turn. Swallowing away his nerves, Jack takes Pitch’s cock in his hand. This is the first time he’s done this; every other time after reaching his own climax he has let Pitch do as he wished. This time, he wants to repay him. 

Pitch’s cock is hot to the touch, hotter than Jack’s ever gets. It is bigger too, a lot bigger, and the feel of it in his hand makes Jack draw in a breath. He strokes it slowly, watching Pitch’s eyes close, his lips part as he moans softly. 

“That’s good, Jack,” he says, and the encouragement makes Jack move faster. He does what he knows, what he likes when he’s jerking himself off, and he marvels at the way Pitch’s moans come more quickly as he works. It makes him bolder and he tightens his grip, sliding his other hand down to cup Pitch’s balls and squeeze gently. As Pitch lowers his head, gasping against Jack’s neck, Jack grins and keeps going. He can feel Pitch’s body shaking against his, the tremors getting stronger as his moans grow ever louder. 

Suddenly he cries out, his whole body tensing up and he comes, across Jack’s hand and stomach. Collapsing onto Jack, he gasps for breath and squeezes Jack’s shoulders hard. 

Pulling his hand free, Jack looks at the thick, milky strands of Pitch’s come. He flicks his tongue out. The taste is slightly bitter, but the knowledge that he made it happen is sweet. 

Jack smiles, feeling victorious. Pitch’s breath in his ear makes him shiver and he lifts a hand to card through Pitch’s hair. That was a wonderful way to spend the afternoon. Even – especially – having his hands bound. He feels Pitch shift on top of him and opens his eyes to see Pitch looking down at him with such intensity that Jack can’t breathe for a moment.

“Mine,” Pitch whispers, possessiveness seeping through the word, and Jack’s eyes widen. Pitch’s expression softens into a smile. “Not yet,” he amends and strokes Jack’s cheek, tracing his jawline and then running over the edge of his collar. “I’m not fool enough to think that I’m the one you want. Anyone would do to distract you; to make you feel good.”

Jack blinks up at him, trying to formulate an answer that won’t offend Pitch. As much as he is grateful for Pitch’s knowledge and experience, for the way he knows how to touch and tease until Jack is a whimpering mess, anyone _would_ do. This isn’t about Pitch; it’s all about Jack. About him exploring and learning but mostly about forgetting everything in a haze of pleasure.

Pitch merely smiles a little wider and kisses Jack’s forehead. “No matter. I still have almost three weeks to change your mind. That will be more than enough.”

“Confident, aren’t you,” Jack says with a laugh and grins up at him. “I’m certainly looking forward to seeing you try.”

When Pitch leans in to kiss him, Jack finds himself wondering just how many kinds of kisses Pitch has. With Jamie it was always the same: soft and wondering, both of them hesitant and nervous. Pitch seems to have an encyclopaedic range of them: soft enough to make Jack’s heart ache, hot enough to make him hard, slow enough to make him shiver.

This time it is slow and lazy and indulgent, and Jack melts into it, sighing against Pitch’s lips. They part and Pitch pushes himself off Jack, gently cleaning them both up. Jack lies there, letting Pitch look after him, and his eyes slide shut.

===

All is darkness. Stagnant, lifeless air settles in his throat, choking him, and he reaches out desperately for something to orientate himself.

The place is small, too small to stand. Reaching out he finds walls; using his hands to guide him, his searching fingers locate a door, the metal handle cool under his fingers. It turns easily and he blinks against the sudden brightness of the world outside. In the time that it takes him to adjust to the light he already knows where he is. 

The thick, choking incense of the temple in Lunanoff fills his nose. Memories that he’s been desperately supressing crash to the surface and with a choked cry of fear he runs through the gilded halls until he is in the main temple hall, full of rainbow light and sweet fresh air.

He sobs and falls to his knees, accidentally prostrate before the statue of the moon god. Jack looks up at that familiar face, the features so similar to his own, and feels both joy and despair war within him. He's home. Where everyone he knows and loves betrayed him.

He stays there for a long time on his knees, looking up at the statue. He's never been one for prayer, avoiding services and lessons both. He doesn't think the moon god would listen to him anyway. No-one else in Lunanoff ever did.

Slowly he becomes aware of voices outside. They are too distant for him to identify but with a terrible sense of inevitability he stands and walks to the doors of the temple. _No,_ he thinks, _I don’t want to_ , but his feet don't listen. They keep going until he is outside.

Now that he knows what the real sun is like, the daylight of the dome is dull and feeble; the still air is stagnant and stale. It makes him feel claustrophobic and he longs to feel the sun on his skin, or the wind in his hair. Still Jack's feet move, and as he grows closer the voices become recognisable. North and Bunny. His brothers, their voices joined in laughter.

“No,” he says again, aloud this time, but still he cannot stop. Inexorable as a falling guillotine he gets closer until he sees them. Tooth is with them, Jamie too. No-one looks as he approaches; they are too busy laughing at one of North's stories.

Finally Jack's feet answer his call and he stops, still in the shadow of the temple. His friends and family are bathed in the imitation of light not ten feet away.

He realises he is wearing one of the robes that Amber made, his favourite: blue with feathery white embroidery on the neckline. It feels strange to be wearing it in Lunanoff, and he runs his fingers over it. The sheer material is soft beneath his touch and something about it soothes him, gives him courage. If he's brave enough to be Pitch's courtesan he can speak to his family.

“Hey,” he calls, but no-one looks at him. “Hey!” Still he is ignored. Frustration growing, he steps out of the shadows toward them. 

“Why did you let them send me?” Jack asks. “Why didn't you help me?”

Still they ignore him, and with a thick sense of dread Jack feels familiarity seep over him. He knows this; he’s lived it a hundred times at official feasts or family meals, whenever his father was present. He would be alone in a room full of people because when the king ignores someone, everyone ignores them. Each time his father would shun his youngest son, and each time it hurt a little more. Now there isn’t even have the excuse of tradition. 

Memories of fun times with his siblings race through his mind. Sword training with North; tending the plants with Bunny; racing across the city with Tooth. He always thought that they at least loved him. But then he’s been wrong about so many things. Was he wrong about that as well?

“You could have just _asked_ me,” Jack says, his eyes blurring with tears. He wipes at his eyes fiercely; he will not let them see him cry. “I would have said yes. I think. I mean- if you'd told me that people were _dying_ \- if you'd told me the truth. If you gave me the _choice_!”

Tooth turns, and Jack's heart leaps. She was the only one who made any indication of even wanting to help him - now she will-

She walks straight through him.

Jack's eyes widen and he can't breathe. He grasps his chest, trying to prove to himself that he is still here, that he’s real. He turns to her and whispers her name brokenly, but she pays no more attention to him than before. 

He steps back as though he could so easily step away from what's happening to him. Bunny stands up to lope after Tooth, and when he walks through Jack the world falls apart.

===

Jack wakes wide-eyed and gasping. Instantly he knows it was a dream, that he’s here in Umbra, but it doesn’t help. He’s here _because_ his friends and family didn’t help him, because no-one cares about him-

But then a warm hand squeezes his shoulder and he looks into the worried grey-and-gold eyes of the Nightmare King.

Jack looks up at him, feeling tears in his eyes and willing them not to fall. 

“It's alright,” Pitch murmurs, pulling Jack into his arms. “You're alright, Jack. It was just a dream.”

There's no such thing as just a dream, Jack thinks. Not anymore.

“Nightmares,” he whispers, his hand curling into Pitch's robe. “Ever since I came here. I don’t remember them but I always feel like this when I wake. I _hate_ it.”

Pitch is quiet for long moments. His hand strokes through Jack's hair and slowly it calms him. Remembering the dream so clearly has taken him unawares. He’s used to the vague feeling of unease every morning, but this time was different and it makes his heart ache.

“It’s alright,” Pitch says again, and Jack moves back, wiping at his eyes fiercely. 

“Yeah, it is. If they didn’t want me, that’s their loss, right?”

Pitch smiles and touches Jack’s cheek. “There you are,” he says, and Jack blinks.

“I- I've been here all along?”

“No,” Pitch says. “You haven't. I won't pretend to know the real you, but I'm being to recognise the shape of you. I always thought that you would be soft and gentle; pliable and innocent.”

“So - if I'm not that, what am I?”

“Strong-willed and smart. Quick and sharp as a sword. And strong, Jack. Maybe you don't see that yet, but you are.”

Jack’s eyes widen and he gives a bark of a laugh at the description. Is that truly what Pitch sees when he looks at Jack? In the mirror Jack sees a lost boy, trying to understand what has happened to him and hiding his hurt with smiles. He wonders which of them is closer to the truth. “So do you like what you thought I was, or what you think I am now better?”

“I like _you_ ,” Pitch says, kissing him gently on the lips. “And I-”

“Pitch?”

It's Onyx, though there's a hesitant note in her voice that Jack hasn't heard before. Pitch calls her forward and her eyes glance at them quickly before she gives a sigh of relief, possibly that they're both dressed.

“Your highness, a communique has arrived that requires your attention.”

Pitch frowns at her. “Why didn't you bring it here?”

Onyx's eyes dart to Jack and then back to Pitch. “It's from Lunanoff. A response to the message you sent after finding out that Jack had been forced to come here,” she says and then sighs. As she shakes her head, her long hair shifts like a veil of shadow. “It will either upset Jack, or it will make you angry. Either way, I think you should see it before Jack does.”

“If it’s about me-” Jack starts, but Onyx shakes her head.

“Jack, please. Trust me on this,” she says, and then turns to Pitch. “It requires action, so I’ve called the councillors together. They’ll be meeting in the council chambers shortly.”

“Alright,” Pitch says, annoyance clear in his voice. “I'll go. Accompany Jack to his rooms.” He pauses, and touches Jack’s cheek softly. “I may be some time, but I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”

Pitch heads towards the palace with long, angry strides, his robe billowing behind him. 

With reluctance Jack stands and glares out at the lake as though it is to blame for his predicament. “Every time I think I know where I stand, something like this happens.” 

“You do know where you stand,” Onyx says from behind him. “You’re the king’s courtesan. Pitch would never let anyone hurt you. While you’re here, you’re safe. You needn’t fear.”

There are too many things that Jack could say in response to that, so he says nothing. He turns from the lake and starts walking, hoping he’s going in the right direction. 

It’s not that he fears being hurt, not physically. It’s his feelings that are being torn asunder and there is little that Pitch can do to save him from that. 

He wishes fiercely that Lunanoff would leave him alone. They sent him here yet still they cast a shadow over his life. His thoughts slip back to his dream and he frowns. Does his family think of him at all? Does Jamie? Do they miss him or is he just a memory, a ghost?

Lunanoff haunts him still, but the only answers to his questions come in dreams that he can’t remember. That he doesn’t want to remember.

“You’re thinking too much,” Onyx says, breaking him out of his circular thoughts. 

Jack gives her a weak grin. “That’s the first time anyone’s accused me of _that_. If I end up going back to Lunanoff how about you put that in writing for my tutors?”

She smiles softly, her eyes gentle. “Honestly, Jack. I know you’re in a difficult situation, but overthinking things isn’t going to help. Even if you were here of your own choice, no-one would expect you to be used to your new role yet. That’s what the promise month is for. To explore your new life - to be sure it’s what you want.”

“I, uh- I might have already done some exploring,” Jack says, his cheeks heating up and his grin widening as he thinks about it. 

“If you’re talking about Pitch, I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Sorry,” Jack says, still grinning. “It’s fun, but- It’s weird to feel this way.”

“If you’re attracted to him, that’s a good thing.”

“I’m not sure it is attraction. I mean-” Jack pauses, realising that he perhaps shouldn’t be saying this to Pitch’s cousin. Then again, Pitch himself already said as much. “It’s not- I don’t know if I want _Pitch_ exactly. But I want someone, that’s for sure.”

Onyx laughs at that. “You’re eighteen, Jack. That’s to be expected. Not to mention that stress can lower your inhibitions. When I was in the army-” She stops herself, eyes wide for a moment at her slip, before smoothing back her hair and continuing on in silence.

“When you were in the army?” Jack nudges, not willing to give up so easily on hearing a juicy tidbit from Onyx’s past.

“I may have done some things I wouldn’t normally do. Things that you’re never going to find out about.”

“Spoilsport,” Jack says, but it’s with a real grin. “Maybe Amber will tell me.”

“Not if she wants to live.”

By the time Jack gets back to his rooms, he’s feeling better. Whatever this communique from Lunanoff is about, it’s not going to change anything. It’s his choice whether or not to stay. They tried to take that away from him once; he won’t let them do it again. 

“I should go,” Onyx says. “I’ve left him alone with the councillors and they will be less than happy with me. Try and relax, Jack. Take things easy. We’ll deal with it; you don’t need to worry about a thing.”

After she’s gone he settles onto his balcony with a book about courtesans of famous kings. Perhaps the life of a courtesan is perfect for him, Jack thinks. While doing his duty and helping to stop a war, he gets to experience nothing but pleasure. 

He chuckles at his thoughts and opens the book.

===

It's late when Pitch comes to Jack, late enough that he's fallen into a light snooze on the balcony.

Pitch wakes him with a shake to the shoulder and a smile. “Now what did I tell you about falling asleep outside?”

“I wouldn't have fallen asleep if you hadn't kept me waiting so long.”

A shadow crosses Pitch's face but then he startles Jack by picking him up in a princess carry, just as he did that first night.

Jack laughs lightly and hides his face against Pitch's neck. He thinks of what Pitch said earlier - that anyone would do. For the first time, Jack wonders if that’s true.

Pitch sets Jack on the bed and goes to the closet, gets the bed robe and hands them to Jack, letting him change his own clothes rather than undressing him. Such a little thing but it means so much. Jack smiles down at the robe and goes into the bathroom to change.

When he comes out, Pitch is looking at one of the books from Jack's bookcase. A tome of Selenan history, a dusty book about a country almost entirely extinct.

“If you want to know about Selena, you could just ask the Selenan in the room, you know.”

“I could,” Pitch says, closing the distance with three strides and kissing Jack firmly. “But you have never even seen Selena and the more I get to know you, the less I think you are one for book learning.”

“You're right,” Jack says with a grin, putting his hand on Pitch's chest. “I prefer hands on learning.”

“So I’ve seen,” Pitch says and takes Jack's hand in his, leading him over to the bed.

“The communique was not from your father or Benard, but a councillor named Marek. Do you know him?”

“Not really,” Jack shrugs. “My friend was his apprentice. He’s something to do with making sure things run properly – the roads, the healing halls, that kind of thing. Administrative stuff.”

“And the water – he would be responsible for that?”

“Yes,” Jack says, very quietly. 

“He’s asked me to meet him tomorrow in the city hall, where I met with Benard and your father. Since we don’t have time to deny him, I have little choice.”

“Is- is that it?” Jack’s not sure what he was expecting. Something personal. A note from someone. _Anything._

“Yes,” Pitch says, sighing and reaching for Jack’s hands. “There was no apology. No explanation.” It makes Jack’s heart hurt but he isn’t surprised. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want an apology from this stranger. It is Benard and the king – they are the ones who need to apologise to you.”

Jack’s head snaps up to stare at Pitch. “To me? But they lied to you-”

“And they forced you into this! They should apologise to you. They should beg for your forgiveness,” Pitch says and suddenly Jack is kissing him. Nothing planned, not even a thought. He just needed to kiss this man who seems to care for him more than anyone else ever has. 

“Thank you,” Jack whispers, and rests his head in the crook of Pitch’s shoulder. Long moments pass like that, Pitch stroking his hair, until Pitch pulls back. 

“I have something for you,” he says, and withdraws a small vial from his robes. He hands it to Jack. It is delicate glass with a black stopper, and it is full of golden sand, from a far off beach maybe. Jack wonders if he might one day see it.

“It's very pretty.”

“It's not just a trinket,” Pitch says, and sits on the bed beside Jack. “Earlier, you were asking why I am called the Nightmare King. There are many reasons, some true and some false, but it all began with this sand.”

Jack peers dubiously at the vial. “People call you the Nightmare King because of some sand.” 

Pitch glances at him cooly. “It's not _just_ sand, and the story will go much quicker if you let me speak.”

Jack holds his hands up in surrender, and makes himself comfortable against the cushions. As he moves, the robe falls from a shoulder and Pitch stares hungrily. Catching him looking, Jack puts the robe back as it should be with false modesty and waves for him to continue while trying not to smile. He’s finding that he likes to tease Pitch. 

“When I was younger, I was a soldier. When I first joined the military - before I proved myself - I was treated as a spoiled prince. Not trusted with anything important I was given a place on a galleon, doing nothing more than rudimentary scouting missions. We sailed the seas between Selena and the port of Varyn. The waters had only recently become safe to sail but we weren't expecting to find much. We _didn't_ find much, save for one tiny, uninhabited island, covered in golden sand, forming strange shapes. That sand.”

Jack looks down at the vial in his hand. That island might be part of Selena; this might be the closest to his ancestral homeland that he's ever been. The thought fills him with wonder.

“The seas were rough but there was a calm bay on the island where we stayed overnight. In the morning, the talk over breakfast was of the sweetest dreams that any of us had ever had. When the storm raged a second night, these pleasant dreams continued. Despite the protests of the others I went onto the island to investigate. There was nothing but sand. I wondered if perhaps the sand itself could be causing the dreams. 

“I took a few jars off the stuff when we set sail again, experimenting with it. If it could give good dreams, might it not also cause nightmares?”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“ Because I was proud and had to prove myself worthy to my father. My thought was that if the sweet dreams the island caused have my men a spring in their step, might not nightmares make an enemy slow and tired, easier to beat? And if it was possible to manipulate those nightmares, you could make them doubt each other – even doubt their allegiance to their country. A nightmare can be a powerful weapon.”

“I guess...” The thought of controlling nightmares or causing them makes unease settle on Jack’s shoulders like a cloak. He knows the power of nightmares; he feels it every day. It seems wrong to him to use something as intimate as a dream as a weapon.

“It was neither easy nor quick, but our voyage took half a year. And I did it. My shadows tainted the dreamsand, turned it black - turned it into nightmare sand. It worked as well as I could ever have hoped. I received a commendation and a promotion, as well as my father's praise. And that is where the name came from. I haven't used nightmare sand in many a year, but I keep some small stores of it-”

“Is that what's causing my nightmares?!” Jack asks, sitting upright. If that's the cause then it will be easy to stop-

“No, Jack,” Pitch says with a shake of his head. “The jars are all firmly sealed. But this dreamsand might help. Open the vial as you go to sleep and perhaps it will bring you sweet dreams, as it did to me and my men so many years ago.”

Jack closes his hand around the vial, perhaps the most precious gift he has ever been given, and wonders if the moon god heard his prayers after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos and likes <3 I had a super hard time with the last chapter, so it honestly meant a _lot_ to me. This one was a little easier, and hopefully the next one will be easier again (and come more quickly!).
> 
> There is even more incredible [fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) \- please, please check it out and show this awesome artists some love <3
> 
> And lastly, special thanks to [impextoo](http://impextoo.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr for the support and the thoughtful and thoughtprovoking messages. This chapter wouldn't be here - or at least would have taken much longer - without them.


	6. Chapter 6

The morning is beginning beautifully when Pitch steps into Jack's room.

Jack stands up to greet him, already feeling happy and relaxed thanks to a night of good dreams. Thanks to the dreamsand he had the best night's sleep not just since since arriving in Umbra but possibly ever, and he gives Pitch a sweet, lingering kiss of thanks.

“Good morning,” Jack says, his voice husky. Relaxed easily slips into desire, and he trails his fingers over Pitch's collarbone, slipping around to the back of his neck to pull him in for another, longer kiss.

“Apparently it is a good morning,” Pitch smirks, holding Jack tightly to him. “Sweet dreams, I assume?”

“Very sweet. I don't remember a single one of them but I feel great.”

“Much as I would love to celebrate with you, the carriage will be leaving shortly. I've just come to say that I'll be gone most of the day, and Onyx will be taking care of you.”

“Wait,” Jack says with a frown. “I thought I was coming with you.”

“No,” Pitch says, shaking his head decisively. “It's too dangerous. If the Lunanovans attack-”

Jack steps back, putting his hands on his hips and feeling his stubbornness rise. “If it's too dangerous for me then it's too dangerous for you-”

“Not to mention what they might say to try and hurt you.”

“But my friend might be there - the one who works for Councillor Marek. If I could see him-”

“Would you ask why he didn't help you? Why he let your father cast you aside-”

“Yes,” Jack says, and pulls Pitch down for another kiss. If Pitch is kissing him then he can't be denying Jack, and the more Jack kisses him, the more likely he is to say yes. It's only been two weeks but already Jack has a good idea of how to get his own way. “Please,” he says, licking into Pitch's mouth, biting his lower lip gently. “Please.”

“Jack,” Pitch says, but his voice is gone rough and his hands bunch in Jack's bed robe. He takes charge of the kiss this time, and Jack lets him. By the time Pitch pulls back Jack's thoughts are scattered like leaves on the wind and he blinks, trying to remind himself that he is supposed to be carrying out a plan.

“C'mon,” Jack says. “Please. I just want to see him. If anyone would have helped me it would have been Jamie. And if he did - it would make me feel so much better. Please.”

“And what is this Jamie to have been the only one to help you?”

Jack has to swallow down the urge to smile at the jealousy in Pitch's voice. “He's my best friend. My only real friend. It wouldn't make me change my mind about whether to stay here, if he did try to help me - but it would make me happy. Please. Just- I need to know.”

Pitch looks unhappy so Jack kisses him again. “And when we get back, I'll let you bring me off with your mouth again,” he whispers.

The corner of Pitch's mouth quirks into a smile. “I do believe you're trying to bribe me.”

“Is it working?”

“Yes,” Pitch says and steps back. “You are a wily one, Jack. Don't think I'm going to forget that.” He takes a berry from Jack's breakfast tray. “I'll go and tell the councillors to leave without me.”

“So that’s a yes?”

Pitch nods and Jack gives a cry of joy and victory, pulling Pitch into a kiss that threatens to distract both of them. 

“You need to get dressed,” Pitch says without pulling back. “I’ll tell the councillors to go on without us and I'll take you to the city through the shadows.”

“Thank you,” Jack says with a grin, excitement bubbling in him at the prospect of seeing Jamie.

“You’re welcome,” Pitch says, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips. “Really I suppose I should be grateful to you. It means I miss out on an hour of hearing my councillors discuss the finer points of negotiation. I can't say I've ever had a taste for it.”

“You could have fooled me. From what I’ve seen you’re a master of negotiation – at least when it comes to convincing me to try new things.”

Pitch throws him a grin and gives him one last berry-flavoured kiss before departing.

===

An hour later, Jack is ready. 

The outfit is different than anything Jack has worn in Umbra. It’s not sheer; instead it is brocade and rich velvet, black on black, emphasising his paleness. Pitch is leading Jack through the hallways of the palace by the hand rather than the leash.

 _If you are to be seen by people of Lunanoff, it will not be as the slave they sent you to be,_ Pitch said, and other than bare feet and the collar around his neck, Jack feels as much a prince as he ever has.

As it gets closer to the meeting, though, nerves are starting to creep in. What if Jamie didn’t care about Jack getting sent to Umbra? What if he prefers Lunanoff without Jack there? Jack tries to push away the doubts but they follow him like vultures.

“It will be strange to travel by shadows,” Pitch warns as they head up a spiralling staircase.

“No stranger than the silver bridge from Lunanoff,” Jack says, but if anything he is worried that it will stir those memories and he will panic like he did when Amber tried to undress him. He doesn’t want Pitch to see him like that. He doesn’t want to _feel_ like that.

They step into a long corridor with a tapestry down one wall. Jack looks at it in surprise – it’s the first decoration he’s seen in Umbra. It’s made of many types of threads, all of them black. Strange shapes are just visible, woven in different shades of blackness. Jack can't tell what they are, if they're meant to be anything at all, but they seem almost alive. They make him feel unsettled, like hearing a noise in an empty room, and he looks away.

They come to a halt before a set of doors, black, carved with patterns like the ones in the tapestry. 

“This room is specially made for royalty of Umbra to travel through shadows. There are corresponding rooms in all other residences and official buildings.”

“Sounds like an easy way to travel,” Jack says, aiming for humour but his voice is flat, affected by the strange tapestry and worrying about what Jamie’s reaction might be. 

“Are you ready?” Pitch asks, and Jack nods jerkily as his thoughts continue to race. He isn’t ready. What if Jamie just looks away when he sees Jack? What if he ignores him, like in the dream?

“Jack-” Pitch starts, worry in his voice, and Jack nods with more certainty this time.

“I’m ready. I’m good.”

Pitch pauses and then sighs. “I need to learn how to say no to you,” he says and leans in to kiss Jack softly, and it helps to still his panic. Jack’s arms go around Pitch’s waist gratefully and he gives himself over to the kiss. The thought comes to him, unexpected, _I wish he had the leash_. It would anchor him; still some of his worries. 

_And how would I explain_ that _to Jamie_ , Jack thinks and his smile becomes more real.

“I'm okay,” he says, to himself as much as Pitch.

“Just be sure to keep hold of my hand,” Pitch says, and opens the doors. Small windows high in the ceiling let in slanted shards of light, making the room dark and full of shadows. It’s hard to see anything at all and Jack holds Pitch’s hand tighter. 

They step forward and the world falls away.

It feels like falling. That same terror-excitement, the tug in the stomach, everything gone topsy-turvy. The breath is sucked from his lungs and his head spins wildly. When the world coalesces again, light and shape reasserting themselves, he grabs onto Pitch's arm to steady himself as dizziness overcomes him.

“Are you alright?”

“I'm okay,” Jack says, lifting his spinning head. Pitch looks doubtful so Jack forces a smile to stop his worrying. They're here now; if Pitch changes his mind he might never see Jamie again.

He forces himself to ignore the dizziness and examine the room they've arrived in. It’s long, with dark wooden floors and walls painted dark grey. There are no tapestries here, no strange carvings, and Jack is glad; as useful as the room of shadows might be, he hopes he doesn’t have to see it very often. There is only one window, in the opposite wall, ensuring that this end of the room is always cloaked in shadows.

Walking over, Jack gazes out of the window to see his first glimpse of an Umbran city. It looks like Lunanoff but without all of the fanciful facades. Rather than austere, Jack finds Umbran architecture striking: clean lines, grey stone, the only decoration geometric patterns and the occasional watchful gargoyle. 

When he looks down he sees people on the streets below, hurrying about their business. Having become so used to the palace, he expects to a population almost entirely grey-skinned; instead he sees more variety than he’s ever seen before. Pale cream and dark brown skin, hair in more colours than could’ve imagined. And their clothes - many dress like the people in the palace but he sees a group of women in bright beaded dresses and birdlike headdresses; a man in a jewel-covered robe that would be considered extravagant even in Lunanoff.

“So many people,” Jack says as he looks out, Pitch's arm over his shoulders.

“Iscadin is a port city. People from all of the country – from all over the world – come to do business. There's always something to see even for someone who has lived in Umbra all his life. I used to love coming here as a child.”

Jack glances up at him. “Not anymore?”

“Now I only come here on official business. It’s become synonymous with dull assemblies or tense meetings requiring me to be patient and diplomatic, neither of which I particularly enjoy.”

Biting down on an urge to say _no kidding_ , Jack smiles. “We could come here, just the two of us. You could show me around – it might be fun.”

Pitch gives him a wintry smile. “Perhaps.”

They step into the corridor, where two guards stand outside the door. Like the guards in the palace, they wear layered armour made from dark metal with little embellishment. Both of them bow their heads respectfully.

“Your highness,” one of them says in a deep voice. “The councillors have arrived and await you in the antechamber.”

“And the man from Lunanoff?”

“In the conference chamber with two of the kingsguard. For his safety, of course.”

“Of course,” Pitch says with a tight smile, and then turns to Jack. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“I'm not changing my mind.”

They set off, the guards falling into step behind them. Though the city hall is not nearly so large as Pitch's palace and with less of the subtle grandeur, Jack sees the same elements of Umbran design: geometric patterns and dark colours, though the main material is wood rather than stone tile. Mostly though he looks out of the windows, looking down at the people and wondering what their stories are. It's an attempt to keep his mind from Jamie but it works poorly.

_What if he ignores me?_

The thought repeats itself in Jack's mind and his anxiety increases each time. He tries to tell himself that Jamie won't ignore him, Jamie has never ignored him, even when everyone else did - _but what if he does?_

As they approach a set of open doors, a man that Jack hasn't seen before steps out to greet them. He is older, his hair pure grey, but he still exudes power. It’s his broad shoulders, maybe; or his silvery eyes, shining with confidence, as though he knows whatever happens, he can deal with it.

“Your highness,” he says, bowing slightly, and then to Jack's surprise, he turns to him as well. “Welcome to Iscadin, Jack. I hope it's alright if I call you that?”

“Of course,” Jack says automatically. He's so used to being ignored by everyone in Lunanoff that it's a genuine surprise to be greeted, especially so warmly.

“I'm Alden,” he says. “Pitch’s chief councillor. It's a pleasure to meet you finally.”

“Thank you,” Jack says softly, not sure why a councillor would be pleased to meet him as a courtesan when councillors at home didn't care much to see him when he was a prince. There’s a formidable friendliness to Alden that reminds Jack a little of North. Despite the way that comparison makes Jack’s heart ache, he decides he likes him. 

“Pitch, we haven't yet spoken to Councillor Marek. We thought it best to wait for you.”

“Good,” Pitch says. “Go in and tell him that we will be in shortly.”

“Of course.”

Bowing his head, Alden turns to go back into the room, leaving Jack and Pitch alone save for the guards, who have taken their places either side of the doors. Pitch turns to Jack.

“Normally when a courtesan accompanies his king to a meeting like this, he kneels on the floor by his feet. It’s symbolic, to remind everyone of the king’s power. But I will not have them seeing you as a slave. Stand behind me, with your hand on my shoulder.” He strokes Jack’s hair gently. “I know you’re eager to speak to your friend, but let me speak to the councillor first.”

Jack nods. “Alright.” 

They step through the doors. The room is large and bright, wide windows on the opposite wall, covered with sheer curtains that lend privacy but let in the light. Most of the space is taken up with a wooden table, surrounded by far more chairs than there are people. Jack’s eyes immediately scan the room for Jamie, but he doesn’t see him. Disappointment is dagger-sharp. 

On this side of the room sits Alden, along with two other men and a woman in similar robes. On the other side of the room is an old man who gets to his feet slowly; Jack vaguely recognises him as Councillor Marek. A young man Jack recognises by sight but doesn’t know stands by his side, an untidy ream of papers in his arms. Both of them wear the fussy, overly embroidered clothes of Lunanoff and look completely out of place. Either side of them are two guards in gleaming silver armour glaring at two black-clad Umbran guards on the opposite side of the room.

Pitch takes a seat opposite Marek and puts his hands on the tabletop, interlacing his fingers. Jack stands behind him, hand on his shoulder. 

Marek’s gaze slides over Jack, lingering for only a moment before looking at Pitch with runny eyes.

“King Pitch,” he says in a voice like old paper. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“A pleasure,” Pitch says, his voice low and dangerous. Marek seems to notice and he glances at his guards as if to make sure that his protectors are still there. “You come to me after ignoring every point of my letter and then you have the gall to greet me so jovially?”

“Your- letter? Please accept my apologies, I was not privy to your letter.” He sits again. “Councillor Benard told me to come here and discuss the matter of transporting the water. I was not actually expecting to see your royal highness – I thought I would be dealing with councillors, like myself.”

“And yet here I am,” Pitch says. “Let me tell you why: I want answers. I want to know why a kingdom would force its youngest prince into a life of slavery.”

“I-” Marek starts, and his eyes quickly leap to Jack and away again. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“You had nothing to do with it? A councillor in charge of water had nothing to do with the treaty to provide water to Lunanoff? I don't believe you.”

“I - I knew, of course. It was Benard that arranged all of it, but yes, I knew about it.”

“And you approved of sending Jack to an unknown country without telling him anything of it?”

“I-” Marek glances at Jack and then looks away again. “I don't know if I _approved_ -”

“Did you tell them that you didn't approve? Did you speak up?”

“Benard leads the council - and I couldn't speak against the king-”

Pitch slams his hand on the table and Marek jerks back. Jack does too. This furious Pitch is so different than the gentle man Jack has come to know these past few weeks. It startles him; it scares him a little too. 

“You could! And you should! Jack is eighteen and you sold him for water!”

“We need water-”

With a start Jack realises that the room is growing darker. It is as though the sheer curtain over the windows has become opaque, as though night has come many hours early. Tension in the room grows sharply – not just tension but fear, too. With wide eyes, Jack sees shadows slither along the floor towards Marek, inching along in violent, jerky movements. They emerge from the wall and darkness spreads throughout the room, destroying what little light is left, and Jack feels fear rise in his chest.

“Your highness,” Alden says sharply. Pitch goes very still. Slowly the shadows retreat and light returns to the room. Jack lets out a shaky breath and Marek gives a sound that is almost a whimper and pulls his arms into his chest like he’s hugging himself. Beneath Jack's hand, Pitch's shoulder relaxes.

“Is your friend here, Jack?” he says, looking up at him.

“No,” Jack says, gathering his wits. He looks over at Marek. “Where's Jamie?”

For a moment Marek’s mouth opens without speaking, and then he clears his voice, a high, squeaking sound. “I- it was thought best not to bring him-”

“Look at Jack when you are talking to him,” Pitch says sharply and Marek's wide eyes dart to Jack's face.

“We thought he might try and rescue you. Jeopardise the peace treaty. He did it before, you see, when he was told you were to be sent to Umbra, he tried to break into the temple to free you. He had to be detained and was freed only when I spoke for him. He's a good boy, but reckless. So you see I couldn't risk bringing him - it is my reputation on the line. You do see, don’t you,” Marek says, his voice desperate now, and he looks to Pitch to see if his answer is acceptable.

Marek continues to ramble about his reputation, but Jack doesn't care. Jamie tried to help him. He puts a hand to his mouth to hide a grin so wide it's almost painful but there are tears in his eyes as well.

_He tried to save me!_

“Jack?” Pitch stands and puts his hands on Jack's waist. The concern in his eyes only makes Jack's smile grow even wider behind his hand. “We're having a break,” Pitch tells Marek, sparing him a split second of a glance and leading Jack to the door.

“The meeting has barely started-”

Pitch looks over his shoulder and the light flees the room again. Shards of shadow loom over Marek like a clawed hand. With a whimper Marek falls back in his chair.

“I wouldn't recommend testing my patience, Councillor Marek. I have very little of it for men like you.”

When they are outside in the corridor Jack lets himself laugh, pure joy bubbling up in him.

“He tried to help me!” Jack says, grinning up at Pitch. “Jamie tried to help me!”

Pitch frowns slightly. “He wasn't successful.”

“I don't care,” Jack says, waving a hand dismissively. “I know that he _tried_. Do you know how good it feels to know that at least someone _tried_? Now I know that at least one person cares about me,” Jack says, half a sob, and Pitch touches his cheek.

“Not just one person.”

Jack laughs softly, both touched and amused by Pitch's unexpected sweetness. He kisses him, feeling generous in his joy.

Pitch's hands tighten on Jack's waist. He wants more - so does Jack; delight is very much a turn on. He opens his mouth and Pitch pulls him in closer, sliding his tongue into his mouth, tasting him. Jack moans, wrapping his arms around Pitch, kissing back until he’s half-hard and breathless.

Pitch is the one who pulls back and it occurs to Jack that they are standing in the middle of the corridor in the city hall, two guards steadfastly not watching as they kiss. He laughs and rests his head against Pitch's chest, feeling a little lightheaded.

Everything is better now that he knows that Jamie tried to help. It would have been nice to see him, to be sure, but maybe that can happen later, once the peace is secured. They stand there for a long moment, Pitch’s fingers stroking through Jack’s hair and Jack can’t stop smiling. 

“Do you want to go back to the palace?” Pitch asks. “The rest of the day will be terribly dull.”

Jack looks up at Pitch. “Is that okay?”

“Of course. Onyx will look after you. She can take you to see more of the gardens if you like.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I'd like that.”

The journey back to the palace is something of a blur, and Jack still can’t stop smiling. Pitch accompanies him through the shadows and back to his rooms. He kisses Jack breathless in a brief, burning moment and then takes his leave.

Jack goes onto the balcony and flops down onto his sofa, so full of joy that he feels drunk. 

“Jamie tried to help me,” he laughs, and the wind dances in his hair as though celebrating with him.

===

Jack’s sobered up a little by the time there is a knock at his door. 

When Onyx enters with a large scroll in her arms, she is not alone. Amber is by her side, wearing black trousers and a white tunic embroidered with blue roses.

“Is it me or is that not what you were wearing this morning?” Jack asks her.

“Don't get her started,” Onyx says, laying the scroll on the table. “She said that if you were going to change your clothes, she was too.”

“I'm getting changed?”

“If you want to,” Amber says, handing him the carefully folded bundle in her arms. “I thought since the king is going to be gone for the day you might as well wear something you're truly comfortable in.”

Investigating, Jack sees that they are trousers and a tunic, made of sturdy fabric rather than the sheer material the robes are made from. Grinning at her he races to the bathroom to change. The tunic is blue with a simple angular pattern embroidered around the neckline, and the trousers are fitted and brown, stopping halfway up his calves. It’s more like what he used to wear, so when he's done his reflection is more familiar than it has been for weeks; but strangely it doesn't quite look like _him_ anymore.

Putting his hands on his hips, he cocks his head at his reflection but a grin breaks through is contemplation. He’s too happy for introspection.

Going back out into the room he sees Amber and Onyx near the table, looking at the scroll that Onyx brought with her.

“So what’s this?”

“I thought that since I’d be accompanying you today, I’d let you choose where you wanted to go,” Onyx says, standing aside so that he can see. “This is a map of the palace gardens.”

Jack steps forward to examine it. The palace is at the bottom of the page and the gardens stretch out over the rest of it. There are three lakes and lots of trees; there is the courtesan’s garden, and something called the queen’s cottage. Fountains and a labyrinth, rose gardens and orchards. It seems enormous.

“How big _is_ this place?”

“From what we know of Lunanoff, we believe that the palace grounds are approximately twice the size of the city,” Onyx says and Jack gapes at her.

Twice the size of Lunanoff. Twice the size of the whole world that Jack grew up in. He stares down at the map, unable to believe it.

“That’s the court where we have our solstice and equinox celebrations,” Amber says, pointing at a square near the palace. “I’ve made the most beautiful robe for you for the autumn equinox,” she adds, sighing happily.

“W-when is that?” Jack asks, his mind still reeling. 

“Next week,” she says, clapping her hands. “You’re going to look gorgeous, Jack.”

“It’s supposed to be a harvest celebration, not a fashion show,” Onyx mutters, but Amber rolls her eyes.

“All the world is a fashion show, Onyx. What you wear is how you present yourself – it tells people a lot about you. And besides – don’t go pretending that the equinox is anything but an excuse to drink copious amounts of cider. I remember what you were like last year.”

“ _Amber_ ,” Onyx says, aghast, but Jack laughs.

“I’ve never had cider. I’d like to try it,” he says. “I’ve never been to an autumn festival for that matter. We don’t get seasons on the moon so there’s not much point in celebrating them. It sounds like fun.”

“It is fun,” Amber assures him. “And you’ll be able to have as much cider as you like.”

Onyx opens her mouth to argue but sighs instead, shaking her head. “There’s no point in asking you to be serious, is there?”

“No,” Amber says, touching the back of Onyx’s neck lightly before stepping away to fold Jack’s discarded robe. Jack looks from one woman to the other, wondering if there is more to these two than he thought. If so, he supposes Amber won't be sharing any tales from Onyx’s army days. More’s the pity. Biting down on a grin, he turns back to the scroll.

There’s a small wood near the palace, and he points at it on the map. “Here. I want to go here.”

===

Standing on the grass, Jack looks up, and up.

From the top of the tree you must be able to see all the world.

Jack puts his hand on the bark, feeling the roughness of it. A real tree, alive and huge and thriving. He grins at it in wonder and then steps back. One large branch is within reach, and he takes hold of it, pulling himself up.

“Jack,” Onyx says, sounding exasperated. “If you get hurt Pitch will kill me. Come down.”

“You come up.” 

Onyx opens her mouth as if to argue but then she pulls herself up onto the branch by Jack's side in one smooth movement.

“I'm guessing you've done this before,” Jack says and she laughs. It's low and muted but Jack can see the excitement in her smile.

“Not for a long time. When we were children Pitch and I would climb the trees here every summer, stay up there for hours until the sun set.”

“Pitch,” Jack says, and he can't keep the belief out of his voice. “Pitch, climbing trees.”

“He was young once,” she says, and then pulls herself easily onto the next branch. Looking down at him she moves her hand in a complicated motion and the shadows wrap around Jack's waist and thighs.

“What–”

“A harness,” Onyx says. “I'm not risking you falling.”

Jack bites back on his protests and nods. It will only make her more obstinate and besides, she's probably right. He's used to climbing buildings but this is a bit different. More flexible for one thing, he thinks as he pulls himself up beside Onyx, feeling the branch bend slightly under his weight.

“From the top of these trees you'll be able to see all the gardens,” Onyx says. “Beyond, too. If it's clear enough we might even be able to see Iscadin.”

They climb together, Onyx advising occasionally where the branches are thinner or the going trickier. As they get higher, the world gets smaller beneath them and Jack grins as he remembers what freedom tastes like.

In some places the branches grow in tight clumps. It makes the climbing easier but there's no way to see out; it's like a cage of green, the wind's laughter shaking the leaves like it's a game.

Onyx pushes out through the canopy and when Jack follows her he forgets how to breathe.

So used to the small world of Lunanoff, he had subconsciously come to think of the forest that he can see from his balcony as everything there is, the end of the world, just as the dome marks the end of the world of Lunanoff. But the forests stretch further than he could ever dream, a living green ocean to contrast with the seas of dust and rock on the moon.

On the other side are sights more incredible still. The gardens stretch out for miles; the lake he visited with Pitch and others too, further in the distance. He can see his garden from here, look down into the tiny-looking square of walls. There are more gardens, flowers and trees, mazes, and farms, too. Beyond is a road like a grey thread through green cotton, leading to a towering and hazy group of buildings on the horizon. Even from here Jack can tell that it is tens of times bigger than Lunanoff.

His head starts to swim and he sits down on the branch, hands curling around it to steady himself. He doesn't look away though, he can't.

“Are you alright?”

He nods minutely. “It's so incredible. All of this- I’ve been caged in a space smaller than these gardens all of my life. I never knew that the world was so _big_.” He grins at her and stands, walking along the branch.

“Jack-”

“I’ve got this harness,” he says. “It’ll protect me, right? Besides, I spent the last eight years running across rooftops at home and I only fell a couple of times.”

“That really isn’t a comfort.”

Jack smiles and takes a few more steps until he feels the branch begin to bend dangerously under his weight. Closing his eyes, he feels the wind spiral around him, stronger than on the ground but still playful.

“If my magic wasn’t bound, the wind would carry me,” he says, suddenly sure.

“Did you ever try that, in Lunanoff? Or has your magic always been bound?”

Jack feels hurt like a tickle in the back of his throat but he opens his eyes, looking out at the city. Beyond, he sees a sparkle that must be the river. Jamie would love this, he thinks, and smiles. When he is in this incredible world, what does it matter what happened in the past? “My magic’s been bound since I was eight,” he says. “I used to try and get the bracelet off, so they changed it to one that was sealed by magic, like the collar.”

“Jethryn – the mage who removed the bracelet – he’s been examining it,” Onyx says, “ It’s infused with complex magics-”

“Can we not talk about that?” Jack asks, turning to look at her. “Please?”

“Alright,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. I just – I don’t understand why they would force such binding on you rather than teach you how to control it.”

He goes back to her side and sits with a shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know why they did a lot of things.” Then he smiles. “But I _do_ know that my friend tried to help me.”

“Pitch told me. I’m glad it’s making you feel better.”

“It is. It really is.” Jack swings his legs. “Do you think Pitch will let Jamie come here, to Umbra? He’d love to see this.”

“Perhaps. You do have Pitch wrapped around your little finger,” she says with a soft smile. “Once peace is secure, you’ll have to ask him.”

“If I stay,” Jack says softly.

“Do you think you will stay?” Onyx asks, doing a bad job of pretending to be blasé.

“I don’t know,” Jack says. “I’m trying not to think about it. Whenever I do I just get stuck on this thought that I’ll have to go back to Lunanoff if I decide not to stay, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like I have much of a choice at all.”

“You don’t have to go back to Lunanoff,” Onyx says. “You could stay in Umbra.”

“And what would I do?” Jack asks. “Go to the city? I don’t know a trade or any other way to make a living.”

Onyx pauses, looking at him with an open mouth, and then she smiles. “I forget sometimes, how little you know about Umbra. You know that Selena and Umbra have never had the smoothest of relationships?”

“Sure,” Jack says, shrugging. 

“Even so, we’ve always been jealous of the mages of Selena. The royal ice mages most of all. Add to that the mystery of a city on the moon – people would pay just to _look_ at you, Jack. If you stayed in Umbra you wouldn’t be wanting for money.”

“If I want someone to stare at me, I might as well stay here and have Pitch look at me. At least I know that Pitch values me more than an animal in a zoo; he wants to do more than just gawk at me.”

Onyx grins at him. “Are we talking about that ‘exploration’ again?”

Jack laughs and nods. It never crossed his mind that he might be of interest to the people of Umbra on his own merits. Even though Jack should have been something special in Lunanoff as an ice mage, looking like King Jokul reborn, his father had put paid to any affection the people might have had for him. Now, though, he is beyond his father’s grasp.

There is irony in the thought of making a living from being looked at when all his life he’s been ignored, and gives a crooked, bitter smile. It might not be something he would truly want, but gods know it would be preferable to going back to Lunanoff.

He’s not sure, though, that it would be preferable to his life here.

He thinks of Pitch’s anger, driven by protectiveness, and bites his lip. He’s not used to having someone give enough of a damn about him to get angry on his behalf. It’s nice to be so cared for.

Still – is it nice enough that he is willing to give up his freedom? Then again, he seems to have more freedom here than he ever did in Lunanoff. Even if he has to be accompanied by Pitch everywhere, he doesn’t think he’d mind that so very much. He’s getting to realise just how easy it is to get Pitch to do what he wants.

“Are you overthinking things again?” Onyx asks, and Jack smiles at her.

“Probably.”

“I think I know just the thing to take your mind off it,” Onyx says. “There’s more to the gardens than was on the map. There’s a cave system nearby. Would you like to see?”

“I’d love to!” Jack says, and smiles at her, thinking that there is more reason to stay in the palace than just Pitch. 

_Friends_ , he thinks, and the word almost like something from a foreign language.

===

Jack sits out on his balcony with wine and lemon cakes, all that is left of his dinner. The sun set hours ago and the moon is high in the sky, but Jack doesn't even mind that tonight.

Raising his cup of wine in a toast, he says, “Thanks, Jamie,” and drinks deep.

It's been a good day. First finding out about Jamie and the spending the day with Onyx, climbing trees and exploring caves. The only thing missing is Pitch. Jack would very much like to feel his mouth on him again but it looks like he's going to be disappointed.

With a sigh he finishes his wine and settles back on the cushions. He tries to concentrate on reading. It's useless though. It keeps getting interrupted by yawns and indignant thoughts about Pitch not coming to see him.

Jack gives a snort at his own thoughts. Within the space of two weeks he's gone from knowing nothing about Pitch and being terrified of him, to getting petulant when he doesn't get a kiss goodnight.

He tries to turn his attention back to the book, and reads a paragraph written by a long-ago courtesan about their thoughts on the collar, but he’s quickly distracted by longing for Pitch. The wind teases his hair as if sensing his wish for companionship. 

Putting the book aside, Jack pulls his knees into his chest and thinks on yesterday, on what Pitch was saying before Onyx interrupted them; about what Pitch sees when he looks at Jack. He smiles at the memory. Before, he thought Pitch was vastly exaggerating, but now that he knows that Jamie tried to help him – maybe there was something to it. Maybe there is more to him than he sees in his reflection. 

His thoughts meander along those lines until he finds himself yawning again. He chuckles; if he’s about to fall asleep then he had better go inside. Pitch has warned him about falling asleep on the balcony after all, and he should open his jar of dreamsand. 

Picking up his book he turns to go inside and get ready for bed, but not before one last smile up at the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who has left kudos and most especially comments on this fic - they inspire me and keep me writing <3 <3 <3
> 
> There are more [fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) of this fic, and they're all wonderful, please make sure you take a look! Not only that but there are incredible [fanfic](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfic-of-my-fic-what) of this fic as well! AND there is a [cosplay](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/cosplay-of-my-fic-what) of courtesan Jack! *swoons* (I also wrote a bit of a [ficlet](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/53784884322/itll-be-alright-onyx-says-softly-half-hidden) myself about Pitch's past.)
> 
> Seriously, you guys are ALL incredible, thank you so much for reading <3


	7. Chapter 7

The last few days have had skies full of clouds. 

Amber mentioned that grey days make her mood plummet, but Jack likes them. Watching the clouds pass across the sky, changing shapes and colour. He’s endlessly fascinated by the way that they react with the wind, are moulded by it. He feels a tug deep within him, the part of him that responds to the wind can sense the change in the weather; it feels like a feather being stroked over his skin. 

Maybe the strength of his response is due to him never having seen such cloudy days before, because it seems to be affecting Pitch’s mood negatively as well. For the past few days he’s been quiet and slow to smile. Lost in heavy thoughts with his shoulders bowed under the weight of them. At first Jack was worried that it was something that he had done or said, but Pitch’s embraces and kisses have been as full of affection as ever. Jack’s sure that the cause for this mood must be more than just overcast days, but he doesn’t know how to ask without being intrusive. The last thing he wants to do is upset Pitch further. 

They’re walking in a stretch of woodland. Pitch is leading Jack by the leash, but his hands are unbound. There is a stone path weaving between the trees, a safe space for a barefoot courtesan to walk, and Jack likes the way the different stones feel under his feet: rounded or flat, smooth or a little rough. There is a fresh, green scent in the air. Perhaps it would be prettier with the sunlight streaming through the leaves, but Jack likes it like this, cool and quiet. The only sounds are their footsteps, the wind amidst the leaves, the chirping melodies of birdsong. 

Jack pauses when they pass over a bridge and looks down into the stream below. It trickles musically, laughing over the pebbles of the streambed. A smile curves his lips as a quiet joy grows in him. Being surrounded by nature still fills Jack with contentment. No matter how often he sees it, he doubts he could ever get tired of seeing wonderful things like this. 

And there’s so much more to see. If he stays…

He bites his lip and pushes the thought aside; it’s too weighty for such a lovely day. He turns to smile at Pitch instead but finds that Pitch’s expression is full of his own heavy thoughts. The look in his eyes reminds Jack of the way his siblings look near the anniversary of their mother’s death; that same choking sadness. It triggers the same feelings of helpless guilt that always fills Jack during that time. His heartbeat is heavy in his throat, but he sucks in a lungful of air and with great effort he lets go of the remembered guilt. This is not the same thing. Whatever is upsetting Pitch is not his fault. Instead of dwelling on himself; he needs to try and help, no matter how awkward he feels.

“Is- is everything okay?”

Pitch blinks down at him and then gives him a small smile, as forced as anything Jack himself has offered. “Nothing you need concern yourself with, Jack.”

“But I _am_ concerned,” Jack says, turning to face him. “I’m worried about you.”

Pitch’s eyes widen, and his smile grows more sincere. He pulls Jack into his arms, kissing his forehead. “Thank you,” he says, and Jack can feel the gratitude in his embrace. Jack wishes he knew what was wrong. Not that he would know what to do, but maybe he’d know what _not_ to do. For now all he can do is return the embrace, holding Pitch tightly, and slowly he feels the tension trickle from Pitch’s body. 

When they move on, Pitch seems a little lighter of heart. 

“I’m going to be busy tomorrow,” Pitch says, sliding an arm around Jack’s waist while holding the leash: his preferred way of walking. “So perhaps you’d like a little freedom? I’ll leave your room unlocked and you can explore the other rooms on your corridor.”

“Really?” Jack’s eyes widen at the thought of being able to explore more of the palace, and about being trusted with more freedom, too

“Those rooms are usually the province of the courtesan in any case,” Pitch says. “So it’s only fair.”

With a grin, Jack rises onto his tiptoes and kisses Pitch. Soft at first, it deepens when Pitch puts a restraining arm around Jack’s waist, hand splaying on his lower back to tug him in closer. With a soft noise something like a whimper, Jack opens his mouth for him, letting Pitch slide his tongue over Jack’s teeth and dip into his mouth, stroking against his tongue.

Pitch pulls back and his time his smile is hungry as well as genuine. “The things you do to me, Jack,” is all he says, and Jack grins back, pleased to have distracted Pitch from whatever troubles are haunting him. 

They continue their walk hand-in-hand and Jack smiles all the way. 

===

Jack spends the next morning revelling in his new found freedom. 

Each of the rooms is decorated simply, the usual geometric patterns and dark colour schemes as is the Umbran style. There are a few exceptions, though; a colourful cushion or a patterned rug. Jack wonders if they belonged to past courtesans, and what stories lie behind them.

One room is filled with a number of comfortable sofas – Jack guesses for gatherings. Remembering that Pitch said that these rooms were used by courtesans, he wonders if he could invite people here and have a gathering of his own. Not that he knows many people to invite. Amber and Onyx, perhaps – he could offer them wine and see if he can wrangle some stories from Amber; he’s sure she has plenty to tell. Or perhaps Monty – he’s been bringing Jack new books every week, and his nervous enthusiasm is still sweet. 

Moving on, Jack finds a room with a half-circle of chairs facing a small stage. The next has games –cards and dice, and a chequered board with an army of black and gold pieces facing one another, tiny swords and spears in their hands. He picks up one of the pieces, feeling the weight and the texture of it. He wonders how the game is played. 

And then he comes to a music room. There is a piano against the wall and he smiles widely. This is something he knows. Sitting at the bench he lets his fingers dance over the keys, finding the familiar notes of one of his favourite songs. 

As he does, the music transports him to the last time he played. Tooth sang along until North interrupted, turning the playful song boisterous until all of them were laughing. Was that really only a few months ago?

Betrayal blooms in his chest like an ugly flower, and he changes the song to Jamie's favourite, an epic of dragons and undines and fearless heroes. He smiles as he sings for his friend, even if he can’t hear it. One day he’ll play this for Jamie, Jack thinks. Here in this room, maybe, and Jamie will join his voice to Jack’s. There aren’t many parts of his old life that he misses, but he truly does miss Jamie. Still Jack smiles; Jamie cares for him, tried to save him, and Jack will always smile when he thinks of him. 

After the last notes of the song fade, Jack stands and goes to the window. From here he can see the courtesan’s garden and that conjures a smile too. The first time he went, he had no idea that things would turn out the way they did. It was unplanned, it just felt _right_ , felt good to have Pitch’s hands on him. 

Something’s different now though; something’s shifted in Jack. It still feels good but there’s more there. At some point things changed from wanting Pitch’s touch as a distraction, to just wanting Pitch. The dry humour and crooked smiles, the affection he lavishes on Jack – Jack loves all of it. He likes spending time with Pitch, not just when it involves orgasms. Although he definitely likes that, Jack thinks, and laughs lightly. Pitch seems so good at everything, but Jack wants to try things too. Perhaps try pleasing Pitch with his mouth. If nothing else, it might help take Pitch’s mind off whatever is troubling him. 

If he wants to do that though, he’ll have to do it soon. Once more his thoughts drift to the end of the promise month and his looming choice: to stay or not to stay. A life of pleasure - a life of being cared for and looked after; but of course there is the matter of freedom. He could do as Onyx said, go to the city and make a living, but that has restrictions of its own. And then there is the thing Jack doesn't like to think about - if he decides not to stay, Umbra and Lunanoff will be at war because of his choice.

He closes his eyes and curses his father for forcing this on him, then sighs. He's not going to spend his first day of freedom fretting about his father.

There is one last door at the end of the corridor, and Jack reaches for the handle - to find the door locked.

Jack raises his eyebrow at the door. This is the first one that’s been locked, and that alone makes it interesting.

Nothing that Pitch said precluded locked doors. Just to stay on this corridor, and this door is definitely on this corridor.

Jack puts his hands on his hips, considering. He shouldn’t – but then he’s never been one for self-restraint. Sliding one of the silver clips from his hair, he breathes an apology to Amber and bends it into a pick. Crouching and shifting his robe out of the way, he slides the pick into the lock and frowns in concentration as he works. It takes a little time, but when the lock clicks open, Jack smiles at his success.

“Still got it,” he says with a chuckle and pushes the door open.

It’s a large, airy room, full of light pouring in through wide windows. Cabinets made of dark wood inlaid with gold line the walls. An easel stands before the windows, there are a few chairs – nothing to indicate why the door was locked. There’s another door in the adjacent wall, but Jack decides to finish exploring this room before moving on. He gazes out of the window then goes to examine the cabinets. 

The most interesting thing he finds is a collection of paints and brushes, and a blank canvas stretched over a wooden frame. Some past courtesan must have used this as an art room. Lifting the canvas, Jack looks at it, and is filled with the desire to fill in the blankness. Sitting back on his heels, he considers for a moment before taking it over to the easel. 

Slowly he acquaints himself with the paints. They’re similar to ones he’s used in Lunanoff, and as he paints he’s surrounded by the greasy scent of colours. He paints the view from the window, building it up in layers, though he doesn’t care if it’s accurate; it’s more important to him that it _feels_ right. Greens and browns and greys are true to life, but he adds smudges of colour that aren’t there: moody blues and bruised purples, golds and pinks and reds. 

Standing back to examine his work, he feels satisfaction warm him like he’s basking in sunlight. It’s rare that he paints – he has some in his chambers in the palace in Lunanoff, but he prefers to avoid the palace and doesn’t spend as much time as he’d like in the company of paint and canvas.

Leaving the painting to dry, Jack wipes his hands on his trews. With a wince he offers another apology to Amber. 

Turning his attention to the other door, Jack cocks his head. Clearly it doesn’t lead to one of the rooms off his corridor – it leads to somewhere he isn't supposed to go.

He is able to stop himself, but only for a moment.

This door is locked too, but that is easily taken care of, and he steps through into a room full of shadows. Thick curtains are drawn tightly save for one at the far end, and Jack squints into the darkness. He steps forward - and his wrist is seized, caught in an iron grip.

Crying out, heart hammering in his chest, Jack tries to free his hand but the grip is painfully tight.

“Get off me!”

The grip slackens so that it's no longer painful, but he can't free his wrist.

“Jack? What are you doing here?”

“ _Pitch_?” 

“I said that you could go anywhere off your corridor,” Pitch says and there's a note of hurt in his voice. Of betrayal.

Guilt rushes through him. Pitch gave him freedom and Jack abused his trust. But all he did was go into a room. What's so bad about that?

Anger flares up in response to the guilt, trying to overcome it and consume it. “I was curious, alright? I'm curious, that's a part of who I am. You keep saying you want to know the real me - well, this is me. And if you don't like it-” Jack cuts himself off. His eyes are burning with the threat of tears. “If you don't like it then-”

 _Maybe you don't really want me_ is what he wants to say but he can't - if he says it, maybe Pitch will realise it's true. Maybe he'll decide he doesn't want Jack after all. He hadn't realised how much Pitch's approval - his affection - meant to him, but the thought of losing it terrifies him.

He can barely see Pitch in the darkness, only the shine of his eyes, narrowed as he gazes down at Jack. And then they close, and Jack hears him take a shaky breath.

The hand around his wrist loosens. “I'm sorry, Jack,” Pitch says, lifting Jack's wrist so that he can kiss the back of his hand. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Jack murmurs. “You just scared me.”

Pitch is silent for long, long moments and then he sighs. “Oh, Jack,” is all he says, and then pulls him into an embrace. Jack is stiff in his arms for a moment, but then he relaxes against Pitch's body, listening to his heartbeat. Feeling how tense Pitch is, how obviously upset, Jack starts to feel foolish about his reaction. 

“Tell me what's wrong,” Jack whispers. “Let me help you.”

“You can't,” Pitch says, and there's a broken note in his voice that makes Jack's heart ache. He holds Pitch tighter, never wanting to hear him sound like that again. 

Eventually Pitch pulls away and he puts his hands either side of Jack’s neck, kissing the top of his head, before stepping back. 

“I thought you were busy today,” Jack says, rubbing his eyes to remove any trace of unshed tears. 

There’s a long pause and then a sigh. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something you should know before you decide whether to stay with me.” The room starts to lighten. Jack realises that it wasn't that the curtains were drawn; Pitch had been keeping the room dark with his magic save for that one bright spot at the end of the room.

As the light returns it reveals the most extravagant room that Jack’s seen in Umbra. It reminds him a little of the temple from that first day – coloured light streams in through stained glass, and heavy red curtains fall to the floor like velvet waterfalls. 

Most intriguing though are the portraits, the first he's seen in Umbra. Dozens of them, covering the wall facing the windows. Tall, slender men and women look out from golden frames, almost all grey-skinned.

“It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t understand,” Pitch says with a sigh. 

“Wouldn’t understand what?”

“In Umbra – things are very different than they are in Lunanoff. Portraiture is very special – almost sacred. Each family has their own gallery, filled with paintings of their ancestors and their loved ones. It’s a very private space. To enter another family’s gallery, you must have explicit permission.”

Jack’s eyes widen. No wonder Pitch was so incensed at Jack’s intrusion. “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologise. When I say family, that means courtesans too.” He runs his fingers through Jack’s hair, but his hand quickly drops away, as does the faint smile. “Come,” he says, taking Jack’s hand and leading him down the gallery. 

They walk slowly, so that Jack has time to examine the art.

“But what about the paintings in my books?”

“Books have a sacredness of their own,” Pitch says. “And those paintings are always slightly altered from reality. A different hair colour, or some other distinguishing feature is changed. Family galleries are the only place that true likenesses are seen.”

“So- there aren’t pictures of you anywhere else?” It seems so odd to Jack, who is used to seeing paintings everywhere. Of his father especially. All around Lunanoff, in all the public buildings, his father’s pale eyes looked out at Jack with disdain wherever he went.

“There are; people need to know what their king looks like,” Pitch says, smiling faintly. “But they’re not a true representation.”

“What’s different?”

Pitch’s smile widens slightly. “I look handsome in the pictures.”

“You look alright to me,” Jack says, and then blushes at yet another example of his inability to say the right thing. “I mean-”

“It’s alright, Jack. And thank you.”

As they continue to walk down the gallery, Jack sees hints of Pitch in some of the kings and queens; the high cheeks, the pointed chin. He's startled to see golden collars in the pictures; there are courtesans in this sacred gallery. One has markings like flowers curving around her arms, a soft smile on her face as she kneels at the feet of her king, a man with the ghost of Pitch around his eyes. Another courtesan is in his own portrait, his smile as bright as his colourful markings. They look so happy, Jack thinks, and wistfulness washes over him.

They come to a stop before a family portrait and Jack is startled to see that this does not just look like Pitch; it is him. He wears a crown of dark metal and is richly dressed, but Jack barely notices. All of his attention is on the others in the painting: the highborn woman by his side with delicate features and silky waves of black hair; the little girl who stands at the front who shares both of their features.

Jack's head swims as he stares up, open mouthed.

 _Pitch has a family,_ Jack thinks, feeling like all the breath has been squeezed out of his body. _He loves someone else._

He looks up with a cry on his lips but Pitch's expression makes the sense of betrayal crash to the ground, smashing into pieces. Jack recognises that expression; he's seen it too often in the palace on Lunanoff. It is grief, choking and consuming.

Jack looks back at the portrait. It's clearly from many years ago; Pitch looks much younger. There is another portrait of him beside this one, and there he is alone. Jack thinks of all the time that Pitch spends with him; there would be little time spare to spend with a family.

“Pitch...?”

“My wife,” he whispers. “My daughter. I-” Blinking hard, he closes his eyes. He breathes deep and it is a long moment before his eyes open again. Jack's mouth opens but he doesn't know what to say. Something happened to this woman and girl, that is clear. Something terrible. What can he possibly say that will bring Pitch comfort? 

But perhaps words are not what is needed here. When Jack longs for comfort, it’s not words he aches for, but touch. He puts his arms around Pitch's waist, gingerly at first; just because this is what he would want doesn’t mean Pitch feels the same. His fears are quickly assuaged when Pitch's arms go around him, tight enough to hurt. His back shakes under Jack's hands. His own heart aches at Pitch's hurt, and Jack holds him tighter. 

Slowly Pitch stops shaking and eventually he pulls back. Loss is etched on every feature; it's painful to see. Jack reaches up and strokes Pitch's cheek, summoning the tiniest of smiles. Pitch lets out a shaky breath and leads Jack over to a sofa against the opposite wall, facing the family portrait.

Jack still doesn't know what to say so he says nothing. He wishes he was better at this; wishes he knew what to do. He holds Pitch’s hand and listens, hoping that it’s enough. 

“Five years ago, they were travelling east - to Karine's parents,” Pitch says, very quietly, his voice off-key. ”I should have been with them. I was in Iscadin for a meeting but- If Karine had just _waited_ -” He voice breaks and Jack squeezes his hand. 

“It's okay, you don't have to tell me.”

“No, I do. You should know.” Pitch lifts his head and looks up at the painting with a haunted look. “All we ever found of their carriage was a single wheel. I never let it be officially declared that they- I know they must be, but-” he shakes his head. “Seraphina was only seven,” he whispers and bows his head, breath hitching. He pulls Jack into his arms and buries his face in Jack's hair.

Jack holds him tightly, feeling clumsy in his comfort. He's been faced with grief every year leading up the anniversary of his mother's death. He's never known what to do. Never known how to stop his brothers and sister from looking so lost. He always feels so helpless, so useless, and he feels the same now. And as for how _he_ feels about the knowledge that Pitch was married, had a daughter – he can’t even begin to process it. Right now, all of his concentration is on Pitch. 

Pitch's back shakes under his hands and tears prick at Jack's own eyes at the strength of Pitch's pain. All he can do is hold him, but in time Pitch stops shaking. His breathing evens out and he pulls back from Jack’s embrace to look up at the painting. 

He starts to talk softly, shares tales of this woman and this girl. How his marriage with Karine was arranged and he never thought he would love her. Their promise month was full of snark and bickering, but when Pitch grew ill with a fever, Karine was there when he woke, to tell him he was an idiot for riding in the rain. She kissed him, and Pitch realised that he loved her. 

She never treated him like a king but as her equal. For all her delicate looks, her soul was full of spice and sparks. She challenged Pitch and she loved him, and that is all he wanted in all the world. At least until Seraphina was born; that was the moment when he knew that true joy existed. 

Pitch pauses in telling a tale of Seraphina’s birthday and he gives a wan smile. “I'm sorry. I'm sure you don't want to hear this.”

“Of course I do. It's nice to know more about you. And I think it's making you feel better.”

“It is. I miss them, Jack,” he says, and the words seem to stick in his throat. “I miss them so much.” He pauses for a long moment, and then he manages a smile. “I’ve always spent today alone – I never knew that being with someone could help. Or perhaps it’s just being with you.” 

Jack feels a blush spill over his cheeks and he grins weakly. “Glad I could be of help.”

They sit there and Pitch tells Jack more about his family. As the day draws on, he seems to relax – starts to enjoy telling the tales. The grief is still there but there are notes of sweetness and joy as well. He looks at Jack more, too – not just talking but sharing himself with Jack. It makes Jack’s heart ache a little, that he’s so willing to share even in this moment of loss, while Jack is still keeping him at arm’s length. 

After a story about a family trip to the coast that has Jack aching to see the ocean, Pitch gives him a crooked smile. “Your first day of freedom and you’re stuck here listening to my rambling.”

“No,” Jack says, shaking his head. “I like learning more about you. It’s like – before I came here, all I knew about you were stories about the Nightmare King. One-sided. Two-dimensional. And then I came here and met you. You were nothing like the stories but I was still thinking of you in that same way. Flat. No definition, no colour.” Jack stops abruptly, suddenly aware of how foolish he sounds. 

Pitch lifts a hand and looks at his grey fingers. “I don’t have a lot of colour, Jack.”

Jack laughs and then bites his lip; it seems inappropriate to laugh here, today, but Pitch doesn’t seem to mind. He slides his arm over Jack’s shoulder and shifts so that they are pressed closer together, knee to hip. Suddenly he wants Pitch to kiss him breathless and that _is_ inappropriate. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that we should learn more about each other.” Jack takes a deep breath. “Before the promise month is up, I mean. I keep trying not to think about it, but it’s nearly over. I don’t want to say yes only for it to turn out that we hate each other.”

“I couldn’t hate you,” Pitch says quietly, and Jack looks up to see such intensity in his eyes that he shivers. 

“Yeah, well – you don’t know me so well. I’m just saying – we should talk more. Don’t get me wrong,” he says quickly. “I like the other stuff too. I like it a lot. But we should talk, too.”

“This is a change of tune from _please make me feel so good that I can’t think anymore,_ “ Pitch says, but there’s a smile in his eyes. 

“I’m just trying to be _mature_ ,” Jack huffs. 

“Very mature,” Pitch snorts. “In fact, you sound like Onyx.”

“Well, you know - I think Onyx is pretty smart, actually,” Jack says, thinking of the things that she's said that have made him feel so much better. “No, not just smart - she's wise.”

“She is,” Pitch says softly. “I'm lucky to have her.”

“We both are.”

There’s a long pause. Pitch looks back up at the portrait, a small smile settling over his lips, even as his eyes are sad. He seems lost his memories, and Jack watches, happy to sit in silence for a moment, collecting his thoughts. 

“It's like what you were saying the other day - about getting to know the shape of the real me? Well, I think I'm getting to know the shape of the real you.”

Pitch looks at him. “And what do you think of the real me?”

“I- I like you.” Jack blushes and looks away. “I'm sorry. I'm so bad at this-”

But Pitch pulls him into his arms, holds him right, and Jack hugs back, not to offer comfort this time but to offer himself, just a little, and Pitch gladly takes what he’s being given. 

They stay in the gallery for a long time, until the shadows grow long. Pitch suggests they return to Jack's rooms and share dinner.

As they go through the next room, Pitch sees the painting that Jack was working on and goes over to it.

“I was just messing around,” Jack says, blushing and hoping that he hasn't offended him, since art is so revered here.

“Not at all.” Pitch stands with his hands behind his back and gazes at the painting as though it’s something worthy of consideration rather than Jack’s amateurish scratches. “This is wonderful. You like to paint?”

“Yes. It - takes my mind off things.” Jack blushes, remembering what he's been doing lately to distract himself.

“Then you can come here whenever you want,” Pitch says. “I'll arrange for more paint and canvases to be brought up. I'll be a little busy with politics for the next few days in any case,” he adds, _politics_ sounding like a dirty word in his mouth.

“Are you meeting with Councillor Marek again?”

A smile twitches at the edge of Pitch's mouth as they leave the room and head towards Jack’s rooms. Pitch tells one of the guards to arrange for dinner to be brought up, and they settle on Jack’s balcony.

“Not Marek, no. I rather think I scared him off. No, it's some troubles we've been having with the Sinaran Empire.”

Jack blinks. “What?”

Pitch's smile grows wide. “Come now, Jack, I know you said you don't pay much attention in your lessons but even you must have heard of the empire.”

“Of course I've heard of the empire. I just thought it ended after the Great War. All the countries that were part of it are independent now, right? Tanack, Fintan, Kande- see, I _do_ pay attention.”

Pitch chuckles. “Very good. Though there are a few neighbouring countries still classed as part of the empire. The land of Sinar itself is still very much tainted, but they have a powerful army - and a powerful ambition. When they cause trouble I have to take note.”

Jack considers how little he knows about the planet and its politics. He's never heard so much as a whisper about the empire, though. He wonders if North even knows. “So, you’re meeting with them?”

“No. They refuse to meet with any other country on equal terms. I’m meeting with the wardens of the north and the east-” He cuts himself off again and gives Jack a slanted smile. “Again, I’m forgetting how little you know about Umbran-”

“The wardens of the north and east are great lords that the king of Umbra appoints to guard the country’s borders,” Jack interrupts, and grins. “I’ve been reading.”

“ _Very_ impressive. Though I wouldn’t use the word _lords_ around Lady Ravus. She’s the warden of the east and not someone you want to upset.”

“Am I going to meet her?”

“She’ll be at the autumn equinox celebrations,” Pitch says. “We’ll all need the cider to wash away the taste of politics.”

Jack finds himself looking forward to the equinox, and not just for the cider. 

===

The night is full of stars, like diamond dust suspended in shadows.

Jack is lying on his back with his head in Pitch's lap. They're on his balcony and Pitch's fingers stroke gently through Jack's hair. It soothes him and he sighs, smiling up at Pitch. In response he gets a small, wintry smile and Jack pushes up to kiss him.

“You okay?”

“I'm better than I have been for years. Because of you.”

Jack blushes and leans his forehead against Pitch's. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did everything.”

Pitch kisses him, warm and deep, slow and intense.

By the time Pitch pulls away Jack is trembling, a deep emotional thing that seems to emanate from deep within. He looks into Pitch's eyes, silvery in the darkness, and feels a tug in his chest. Sighing he wraps his arms around Pitch and leans his head against Pitch's neck. He's afraid of this feeling; of the intensity of it, like it could consume him entirely. Normally he ignores feelings that he doesn't understand - spending too much time thinking about them only reveals them to be negative: grief or guilt or loneliness.

But this - this feels different. It feels - sweet. Vast waves of sweetness that he could drown in. 

Pitch's arms tighten around his waist and he kisses Jack's temple. It makes Jack's heart ache. After all Pitch has been through - after everything he's lost - he is still willing to give Jack such affection. Even though he knows Jack might leave after the promise month. It's brave, Jack thinks. He wonders if he can find such courage; courage enough to untangle these feelings he has for Pitch.

He has eight days left to find it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you so so much to everyone who leaves kudos and comments <3 You're all generous and you're all amazing. 
> 
> Please make sure to look at the [fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) and read the amazing [fanfic](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfic-of-my-fic-what) of my fanfic. There is some serious talent here, I'm telling you! 
> 
> And if you're interested, my own little [ficlets](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fic-answer) from this verse can be found here. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading <3


	8. Chapter 8

The canvas is a blur of colours. 

It's not supposed to be anything real; just swirls of paint, thick and bright. Jack's mind is choked by thoughts and feelings, too much to be able to concentrate on anything. The end of the promise month is only four days away now and Jack's ability to not think about things is being taxed to its limit. 

_What if I do_ and _what if I don't_ dance around his head until it starts to ache. He's not made for big decisions. He's not made for painting either, not really. He's supposed to be out there, running free and having fun, doing whatever he wants. There's so much more to do here in Umbra than he's ever done before - exploring forests, swimming in lakes, climbing mountains. And he can do all of that and more - if he's willing for worlds to be at war because of him. 

And if he's willing to never see Pitch again. 

Jack's under no delusions - if he says no at the end of the promise month, Pitch will not take the rejection well. He will keep his word and let Jack go, he's fairly sure of that; but he will never forgive him. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

If he does stay, maybe Pitch will give him more freedom. Let him roam more of the palace - maybe even give him freedom of the gardens. He can run and leap and climb; the gardens are huge enough that it would take him months to explore, years maybe. 

Feeling restless, Jack moves away from the canvas, leaps onto one of the cabinets that line the art room and walks along it, feeling the wooden surface smooth under his bare feet. 

Eyeing the rest of the room, he grins and starts to run. Jumping over the gap in the cabinets, running over the others, a couple of steps along the wall when he runs out of surface, and pushing onto the back of one of the chairs. Hopping from chair back to chair back, he's back where he began too soon. It's a big room but not nearly big enough. 

Jack jumps back down to the floor and sigh. Being given the freedom of these rooms has only whetted his appetite. He feels like a caged bird. Jack frowns, picking up his brush and making a few half-hearted swipes, playing at fencing; but it's no fun without an opponent, without an audience, and Jack sinks into a chair with a sigh, dropping his head into his hands. 

Or maybe - maybe this cabin fever is because of Karine and Seraphina. Maybe he just wants to distract himself from thinking about them, thinking about how Pitch loves someone else. He tries to tell himself that he should have known - that Pitch is older, of course he must have been married; that's one of the duties of a king. Jack is just a courtesan anyway. It may mean more than it does in Lunanoff, and maybe other courtesans have been loved, but why would Pitch love Jack? No-one else ever has. 

He tries to push the pain away but does a poor job of it. All of the affection that Pitch had been lavishing on him has meant something to Jack. He's not even realised it until now, not realised how much he's cherished it. He doesn't doubt that Pitch meant it. That he cares for Jack is obvious, and Jack still feels wonder that someone could care for him like that.

He doesn't mind Pitch loving Seraphina. Having never had a father's love himself, he envies her but he accepts it. What hurts is that Jack will always be behind Karine in Pitch's heart. And that thought is so selfish that Jack hates himself for a moment. 

There's a knock at the door and Jack wipes at his eyes, taking a deep breath and winces when it shakes. He stands, expecting it to open. When he doesn't, he takes another deep breath and goes to open it himself. Pitch is waiting, hands behind his back. 

He takes one look at Jack and frowns. "Is something the matter?"

Jack closes his eyes, heart hammering at the touch, and is suddenly overcome by the urge to cry. stepping forward, he hides his face against Pitch's chest. 

"Jack," Pitch says softly, and when his arms go around Jack tightly, holding him safe, Jack's worries start to fade. Pitch wants him here, at least. "What's wrong?"

Jack shakes his head, and Pitch takes the hint, holding him in silence. His fingers stroke Jack's hair, and slowly Jack's doubts settle. They're still there, hiding in the corners of his mind, but at least he feels as though he isn't going to cry any more. He takes another moment to enjoy being held like this, and finds himself smiling. 

He moves back and gives Pitch a weak smile. "I'm okay. I've just got a lot on my mind."

"I suppose that's true enough," he says, and then smiles. "What have you been doing to yourself?"

"Huh?"

Pitch strokes a finger gently across Jack's cheek, and it comes away blue. "You're covered in paint."

"Oh!" Jack looks up to see blue and green and purple in his hair, to match the paint smeared over his hands. His eyes widen when he can just make out the same colours smeared over Pitch's tunic. "I'm so sorry-"

"Not to worry. That's one of the many advantages to wearing black," Pitch says, his smile widening. "But you had better bathe before Amber comes up to dress you for the festival."

They return to Jack's chambers and as Pitch starts to run a bath for him, Jack examines his reflection. He quite likes the splashes of colour in his hair. It makes him look different - not just like King Jokul or the moon god, but unique for once.

"Maybe I should keep it for the festival," Jack says and grins at Pitch. 

"It's hardly autumnal," Pitch says but it's with a smile and he leans in to kiss Jack. When he pulls back, he has a smear of purple on his cheek. 

"Now you're festive, too," Jack says, but he wets a towel so that he can wipe away the paint. Pitch closes his eyes and lets him before taking the towel and wiping clean Jack's face. It's strangely tender, that reciprocation, and they smile at each other.

Pitch opens his mouth as if to say something, but seems to think better of it. Instead he kisses him softly, and touches his cheek. 

When he's gone, Jack thinks how often Pitch seems on the verge of saying something lately, only to change his mind. 

He wonders what it is. 

===

When Amber and Onyx arrive, they're already dressed for the festival. Amber is wearing a shimmering yellow-gold dress and Onyx is all in black, trousers and a tailored jacket with black opal buttons. Together they make Jack think of the shortening days, fading sun and growing shadows. Perfect for an autumn equinox.

For the past few days Amber has been talking of Jack's robe with increasing excitement, and when Jack finally sees it, he sees she was justified. It's incredible. Draped over one shoulder, sheer layers of fall colours make it rich and vibrant. It is covered with delicately embroidered golden leaves, dense around the hem and then sparser, as though being blown away by the wind. The finishing touch is a wide coppery belt.

His fingers and toes are bejewelled with rings, and his nails painted gold. Earrings are more elaborate, and Amber tells him to close his eyes so that she can add colour to his face, though it's a little more elegant that the paint smears. 

The last time that he was made up like this when he was sent to Umbra, but this feels completely different. Here, he feels completely at ease; he's joking with Amber and Onyx as his eyes are lined and shadowed. He feels relaxed - excited, even. He's been looking forward to the festival since he heard about it - and a little of his excitement is for Pitch to see him like this. Even though Pitch always looks at him appreciatively, Jack never tires of it. 

“You look beautiful,” Amber breathes, sitting back and clasping her hands. Looking over her shoulder, she grins at Onyx. “Am I or am I not a genius?”

Onyx sighs, putting her hands on her hips and examining Jack with narrowed eyes. 

“Fine,” Onyx says. “He looks lovely. You did a good job.”

“And you have a way with understatement,” Amber says. “The king is going to love you."

The word _love_ smashes Jack's good mood on rocks of doubt. "Is he?" The words come out before Jack can stop them, off key and slightly broken. The mask that Jack has been creating, carefully cultivated over the weeks by refusing to think about anything, is starting to crumble. Jack bites his lip, trying to put the mask back into place but his eyes are already full of tears.

"I'm guessing this is about more than the robe," Amber says softly, moving to sit beside him on the chaise longue. She looks at him carefully. "Talk to me, Jack. That's what I'm here for."

"I thought you were here to dress me."

"I'm here for all kinds of things. The king talks to me, you know. Mostly about you these days. He tells me about how strong he thinks you are for overcoming what's happened to you. About how even after everything, you smile and laugh, find wonder in everything. He adores you, Jack."

"I know," Jack says quietly. "And I know it's not even been four weeks yet, so it's not like I would expect to be the love of his life but knowing that I'll _never_ be that-" He stops abruptly.

"Why not?"

"Because- Because that's what the queen is to him."

Amber stares at him for a moment and then touches his knee. "That's what the queen _was_ , Jack. I think he knows she's gone, even if he can't bring himself to make it official. Just because you're the courtesan doesn't mean he doesn't love you-"

"But I'll always be second place," Jack whispers, eyes brimming with tears again. 

"Why would you think that?" Amber shakes her head, curls bouncing. "If Pitch does love you, I can guarantee you will be first and foremost for him. Hearts heal, Jack. We can love more than one person in our life, no matter how much we've loved - or been hurt - before."

Jack thinks of his father. Of how no-one else would ever come even close to the queen in his father's heart, not even his children, and especially not Jack. "My father-"

"Pitch is nothing like your father," Amber says sharply. "He has his share of problems but he sure as hell would never have done what your father did to you. And I'm guessing that's not the only thing your father did to hurt you. Pitch cares for you _fiercely_ and if anyone ever tried to hurt you- Well, he'd make sure they never did it again."

That was certainly true with Councillor Marek, and Jack doubts that Pitch's protectiveness was an isolated incident. He sniffs and wipes the tears from his eyes. He doesn't know why he's overreacting like this. He's used to hiding behind his mask - he's done it for years. It's just - everything that's happening all at once. His emotions are constantly battering against his control. It was only a matter of time before it shattered.

"Jack," Onyx says, walking slowly over to him, the bells at the end of her braid chiming softly. "There are very few people that Pitch will open up to. He's extremely private. Some people even say that he's cold. Do you think he's cold?"

"No. Of course not."

"He is willing to show you his emotions - his vulnerabilities. That's because he cares for you." She pauses. This doesn't come as naturally to her as it does to Amber, but that only makes Jack appreciate it more. "He still loves Karine, and he always will. But she's a memory. Don't doubt yourself, and don't doubt your place in his heart."

Amber smiles and reaches for Onyx's hand. Onyx returns the smile and Jack wonders how he didn't see their feelings for one another from the first moment. Then Amber turns to him and her smile softens. "We'll both be here to answer any questions on the last day of the promise month, but for now I'll say this: enjoy yourself. Smile, have fun. If you decide not to stay, this'll be the only royal feast you attend, so make the most of it."

"Maybe you're right." 

"I know it's hard to think about - hard to try and choose your whole future here and now. But we all have turning points in our lives, Jack. Just think about what's most important to you, and if you can get that from being a courtesan."

"That's just it, though. There's been so many different courtesans, and they've all had such different lives." 

"Courtesans as different as their kings and queens. Whatever you want most, talk to Pitch about it. See if he's willing to let you have what you want most, or if you can come to a compromise." 

"I guess," Jack says with a sigh. The worst of his panic has worn off, and now he just feels drained. He wipes at his wet cheeks, then realises he's wiping off the make-up too. "I'm sorry, I'm ruining your hard work-"

"I don't care about the make-up, I care about you," Amber says, and pulls him into a hug. Jack's mouth works silently, not sure how to react. He thinks of Ben's cheerful disregard of his tears in Lunanoff, and how different things are now. How much better. He puts his arms around Amber and buries his face in red curls that smell of apples. "Whether or not Pitch loves you, I couldn't say for sure. And even if you knew, you shouldn't base your decision on whether to stay just on that. You have to think of your life, of what you want to do with it. Oh Jack. I'm so sorry that you've found yourself in this position. It must be difficult."

"You can say that again."

Amber laughs, and hugs him again. "We're here for you, whether you stay or go. We're your friends."

He wonders - would Onyx really be his friend, even if he turned down her royal cousin? He looks up at her, her eyes solemn but sincere. Yes, he thinks. She would. 

"Do you want me to redo your make up, or would you rather go without?" Amber asks. "If it's going to make you more comfortable, you can change, too."

Jack blinks at her, and then realises she's being serious. Even though she must have spent hours upon hours preparing this robe, this jewellery, she would be willing to throw it aside in a heartbeat to make him feel better. "No, I love this robe! And I want to look the part for the festival, right? Come on, do the make up again - I wanna see what I look like."

The make-up goes on, and then the finishing piece: a crown of copper leaves. When Amber holds up a mirror, Jack lets out an unbelieving laugh. He looks like something out of a fairy tale, some autumn sprite come to life. 

"You like?"

"Yeah - wow, I look - I look great."

"You always look great," Amber says and grins at him. "After all, you have the best dresser in all of Umbra at your disposal."

Jack laughs, and with each time he laughs or smiles, a little more of his tension melts away. 

Amber fidgets with his hair. "Are you going to be okay with the festival? You're going to be seen in public as Pitch's courtesan for the first time, and that's a big step."

"I know," Jack says. "It'll be fine. It'll be better than feasts back home at least."

"What do you mean?"

Jack shrugs; he's already made enough of a scene for one day. Feasts in Lunanoff were fine - unless the king was in attendance. And then suddenly Jack became invisible. His father would ignore him, and when the king shuns someone, everyone does. No-one would speak to him; they wouldn't even look at him. Eventually he stopped turning up to feasts. He was never reprimanded for it, not even the ones where the whole royal family should have been in attendance. No-one seemed to even notice he wasn't there. Compared to that, whatever happens here will be a joy.

"It doesn't matter," Jack says, and changes the subject. "So, is there anything I need to know?"

"No; you won't be expected to do anything in particular," Onyx says. "All you need to do is enjoy it. There's a play, food - lots of cider." She pauses and frowns. "One thing you should know is that we won't be the only ones at the top table."

"I know. Me and you on one side, the wardens of the north and the east on the other. You father, Lord Tarr; and Lady Ravus. Pitch told me."

"Did he also tell you that Ravus is his mother-in-law?"

Jack stares at her. "She''s Karine's mother?" Pitch did _not_ mention that. Gods, what will she think of him? 

"That's not going to make a difference to the way she treats you," Amber says quickly, guessing the direction of Jack's thoughts. "She's not going to judge you against Karine."

"But-"

"No buts. I grew up in the east, Jack. When I started out in the military, I served under Ravus. She can be unforgiving but she always judges people on their merits. No comparisons, no preconceptions."

Jack isn't entirely convinced, nor is he comforted. "And what are my merits?"

"Brave, smart, witty - _gorgeous_ robe. And you know what? Even if she doesn't like you, it's only for a few hours. She's going home tomorrow. Don't let worrying about her spoil your night. If anything, you should be worried about Tarrr."

Jack frowns. He had assumed that Onyx's father would be like her, cool but caring. It's a foolish assumption, considering how unlike his own father he is. "Why's that?"

"He might _sing_ ," Amber says, and her mock-horror makes Jack laugh, amused and relieved.

Amber slaps Onyx on the thigh. "And you, stop scaring him."

"I just wanted to prepare him-"

"Then maybe you should have told him about the time your father started a food fight. Or the time _you_ got drunk and started singing."

" _Amber!_ "

Jack laughs, feeling better. Amber's right. What does it matter what Ravus thinks? And in any case, he's can always just avoid her for one evening. 

Amber is still teasing Onyx when there is another knock at the door. 

Pitch steps in, wearing the most elaborate robe Jack has ever seen him in. Black, as ever, but with a border of small golden leaves embroidered along the hem and neckline. He wears a crown of dark metal, the same one he was wearing in the portrait with Karine and Seraphina. 

He looks regal; he looks handsome. Jack considers saying it, but the words don't come. Instead he smiles and goes over to Pitch, twirling to show off the robe.

Pitch stares down at him, eyes wide. He drinks Jack in, gazing down at him for long moments, and Jack soaks in the attention, feeling a little drunk on it.

Maybe Jack will always be second to Karine, but perhaps it could be a close second. 

Jack smiles up at him. “So how do I look?”

“Perfect,” Pitch says simply and leans in to kiss Jack. Jack’s eyes fall closed and he relaxes into the kiss, sweet and soft. He sighs, smiling, when Pitch pulls away. “Very autumnal,” he adds, and Jack laughs.

“So I hear that this festival involves lots of cider,” Jack says, and Pitch looks over at Onyx.

“For some people,” Pitch says coolly. “And those people had better curb their drinking, since the wardens of the east and north will be there."

Onyx puts her hands on her hips. "As I recall I wasn't the only one who was drinking last year."

"It's true," Amber says, grinning. "You were just as drunk as she was. I distinctly remember you dancing in a most unkingly fashion."

Pitch narrows his eyes but there is humour in them. "I am the king. Whatever I do is kingly."

"Of course, your highness," Amber says, a laugh dancing around the corners of her mouth. 

"Besides," Onyx says, folding her arms. "It's far easier to get along with my father when you're drunk. As your personal advisor, I strongly suggest you have at least two mugs of cider before talking to him. It'll make everything much easier."

"Would that I could drink cider before political meetings," Pitch mutters, more than a little petulant, and then puts an arm around Jack's shoulders. "Are you ready Jack?"

 _As I'll ever be,_ he thinks, but nods. "I'm ready." 

===

The feast starts when they take their seats at the top table. 

He and Onyx sit to Pitch's left, and on the right, the wardens of the north and the east. Onyx's father, Lord Tarr; and Lady Ravus. Now that he sees her, fingers of doubt grasp at him. Does she hate him? Does she think that he's trying to take Karine's place in Pitch's heart? _Is_ he? 

His eyes leap nervously to glance at Ravus. She has none of Karine's delicate features. Her own are strong and hawklike, framed by very short salt-and-pepper hair. And then her gaze meets his, her dark eyes intense. He looks away quickly, concentrating instead on the crowd before him. There are dozens of people, mostly highborn Umbrans. Amongst those gathered are the retinues of the wardens of the north and the east, and everyone from the palace, but Jack doesn't see Monty; he must be hidden among all these strangers. Everywhere there is laughter and smiles, good cheer that is being helped along by cider, and Jack drinks plenty of it. 

He spends the meal doing his best not to look at Ravus, and focuses intently on the entertainment, dancers representing a battle between the seasons. 

When it's over, musicians take to the stage and Pitch stands, offering his hand to Jack. "Dance with me?" 

Jack stares up at him in surprise. No-one has ever asked him to dance before. He smiles, his reservations melted away by alcohol. "I'd like that," he says, letting Pitch pull him to his feet. "Though I'm not very good."

"We'll keep it simple," Pitch says, and leads Jack to the dancers. They clear a gap for them, respectful of the king and his partner. Pitch takes Jack's hand and puts the other on his waist. Pitch steps slowly and carefully, wary of Jack's bare feet, but the dance has only three steps and Jack picks it up quickly; movement has always come naturally to him. 

He looks up at Pitch with a smile. "So do you have to be political tonight?"

"No. Tonight is for pleasure," Pitch says, a small, suggestive smile quirking his lips. 

"Is that so, my king?" Jack asks with a suggestive smile of his own.

Lust flares in Pitch's eyes. "It is. And it will be even more pleasurable when we're alone, Jack."

When the dance is over, he and Pitch step aside. 

Instantly a man Jack vaguely recognises comes up to talk to Pitch - one of the councillors, he thinks - and Jack looks around. His first thought is that he feels short. These highborn Umbrans are so tall, it's like being lost in an elegant grey and black forest. 

As Jack looks around the crowd, his gaze catches that of the warden of the north, who beams widely at him. 

The man - Lord Tarr - strides over. He is lowborn, with deeply tanned skin, a thick grey beard framing his smile. He is short, shorter than Jack, but there is no sign that he feels cowed by these tall Umbrans. There is confidence in every step, and his smile is still wide and genuine when he arrives in from of Jack. 

"It is so good to meet you at last, Jackson!" He pauses and then corrects himself. "Ah no - it is just Jack, isn't it?"

Jack nods, Lord Tarr's friendliness instantly putting him at ease. "That's right. And you're the warden of the north."

"Please, call me Tarr. How are you finding Umbra?"

For a moment, Jack wonders what to say, and comes up with, "It's different."

"You should come to the north," Tarr says. "It might be more to your liking than the ways of these fancy southerners."

"Lunanoff's a lot fancier than anything I've seen in the palace here," Jack says, then his gaze darts up at Pitch, hoping he's not offended him, but Pitch is still deep in conversation with the councillor. "But in a good way. Ruffles and gold leaf everywhere aren't really me."

"Then you should definitely come north. Not a ruffle in sight. And the journey! It's one of the greatest journeys in the world. Mountains and forests, coastal roads - ah, Jack, you've been stuck on that dusty moon all your life, now you are here you must see all there is! You and the king are always welcome in my castle."

The thought of that journey, of seeing so many wonders, sparks Jack's imagination. So many things to see here in Umbra, and as Pitch's courtesan, he has the perfect way to see it. Of course, he would have to convince Pitch to let him go, but something tells him that it wouldn't be all that difficult to persuade Pitch to do anything. "Thank you, Lord Tarr. I'm honoured by your invitation."

Tarr blinks at him and then gives a deep belly laugh. "I don't know if it's because we're in the south or that's just what you're like in Lunanoff, but there's no need for such formality with me, Jack. And I throw a hell of a welcome party. It puts this to shame - no offence, Pitch," he adds, seeing that Pitch is now alone.

"None taken."

"This is a fine party but it needs more ale. And better music - this is so dull! Give me a fiddle and I'll give you a tune that you can really dance to."

"I remember your fiddle playing only too well."

Tarr gives a roar of laughter and pats Pitch's arm. "Of course you do, nephew! How could anyone forget?"

Jack looks at them, curious and a little confused. Since his own father barely communicates with anyone, he has little experience but in Lunanoff everyone is always extremely formal when talking to the king. Despite Pitch's cool reserve, he seems at ease with Tarr's familiarity, even if he doesn't share it. But then, he is Pitch's uncle. Jack wonders what that would be like; and if he had an uncle, if he would have done anything to help Jack. 

A woman's voice breaks into Jack's thoughts, deep and pleasantly melodic. "I hope you don't mind me cutting in."

It's Ravus, and panic spikes in Jack. 

Tarr turns to greet her with a wide smile. "You are too late, Rav, I am the first to meet him!"

She fixes a glare on him. "It's not a competition, Tarr," she says, and turns to look down at Jack. Uncomfortable with the intensity of her dark gaze, he glances down at her clothes. Loose and lightweight robes, a contrast to the leather and furs that Tarr wears.

"Are you trying to terrorise my courtesan, Ravus?" Pitch asks, his voice calm but with the threat of danger threaded through it. He sounds protective, and Jack inches closer to him. 

"Of course not," she says. "Why would I? I just wanted to get a good look at the Royal Courtesan." She looks down at Jack and gives him a cool smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you Jack. You must be something truly special to get Pitch to smile so often."

Jack is dumbstruck. When he imagined meeting Ravus, she ignored him, or said things about him not measuring up to Karine, but he never imagined her complimenting him, and _certainly_ not saying things about him making Pitch happy. 

"You're beautiful, of course, but that alone wouldn't keep Pitch's interest." She taps a finger against her lips. "I would have preferred to meet you when you didn't look like a painted doll. These southerners do so love to dress up for a party."

"And what's wrong with that?" Tarr asks, looking offended and patting his leather tunic, fastened with intricately worked clasps. "It's not just the southerners who like to look good! Or is the party that offends you? You were never a fan of fun."

"I like fun just fine," Ravus snaps and folds her arms, turning slightly to glare at Tarr. "I just don't happen to think that drinking cider until you feel it a good idea to strip in front of everyone is a good idea."

Tarr laughs. "It was a good idea! It gets hot here in the south. Besides, you drank so much that you fell asleep long before I even took off my cloak!"

The continue and Jack stares. Umbra is a strange place. First Tarr's overfamiliarity with with the king and now two of the most powerful people in the country are arguing over what constitutes a good party. This lack of formality is alien to him. Though in private, his brothers and sister can be boisterous and larger-than-life, when it comes to public events like this they wear their formality like a heavy cloak. Even though Jack's been in Umbra almost a month, he obviously still has a great many things to learn.

As they argue, Onyx comes over looking frazzled, and puts a hand on Tarr's arm. "Father, you promised Amber a dance, and this is her favourite song."

"Of course!" Tarr goes to Amber and sweeps her onto the dance floor, smiling widely as he spins her, making her dress ripple like fire. 

"Thank you," Ravus says to Onyx, who bows her head. 

"I thought it best to step in before he brought up last year's winter solstice."

"Quite," Ravus says with a grimace. She turns her attention back to Jack, who's still feeling overwhelmed. "Things must be very different for you here, but I'm sure Pitch is helping you adjust."

"Yes, he is," Jack says, and puts a smile into place to hide his uncertainties. He still isn't sure what to think of her. "Everyone here in the palace has been very helpful, Lady Ravus."

She laughs, a musical thing. "Please, call me Rav. No-one but the king calls me Ravus," she says and looks up to Pitch. "And when are you going to present Jack formally? I've been waiting for the invitation. I thought you might do it during the equinox, since we're all here, rather than making us travel all this way again."

"Jack is still getting used to Umbra," Pitch says. "I don't want to rush him."

Ravus gives a disapproving _hmm_ and then turns back to Jack. "In any case, it's been delightful to meet you, Jack, and I look forward to seeing you again soon," she says and turns to Pitch, giving him a small bow. "I hope you'll excuse me, Pitch. As you know, we leave early on the morrow. Besides, if I don't leave before Tarr finishes his dance he'll try to pull me in next." 

"Of course. Onyx, will you escort Lady Ravus to the palace?"

Onyx nods and goes with Lady Ravus and a group of similarly dressed men and women, and together they head out into the night. Jack lets out a breath, relieved at not having to spend more time with Ravus. A brief meeting is more than enough for him. 

As the night goes on, Jack is startled by how many people wish to greet him. It makes him uncomfortable after a while, though the irony is not lost on him. Years of being ignored at his father's feasts, and wishing more than anything for some attention - and now that he has it, it's all too much and he just wants to be left alone. With a quirk of a smile, he finishes his cider and lets one of the servants pour him some more. 

Pitch drinks too, and the more he does, the more relaxed he gets. His arm goes around Jack's shoulders, fingers tracing the shapes of his marking. Even when talking to others he still lavishes attention on Jack, who decides he likes this affectionate, tipsy Pitch. He'd been afraid that in public, Pitch would be cool or distant, but it seems that alcohol has blunted any formality. 

Although there are many curious strangers wanting to meet the king's courtesan, his friends come to see him too. Monty tells him about the folklore of the north and the east; Amber comes to check on him and tells him tales about some of the crowd. When Onyx returns, she comes to apologise for her father, and she speaks of her childhood, split between the north and the south. 

As the night wears on, Jack feels exhausted; he's sure he has talked to more people tonight than ever before in his life. 

"Is everything alright?" Pitch asks, putting a hand to Jack's shoulder.

"I'm just tired; it's been a long night."

"If you like, we can go back to the palace. It's a little early, but I'd be more than happy to get out of here."

"I'd like that. It'd be nice to spend some time alone with you." 

With a silky laugh, Pitch leans in closer. "Ah yes; you wanted pleasure, didn't you," he purrs, and Jack shivers. 

After speaking briefly with Alden, Pitch goes back up to the throne on the dais. He gives a short speech about the harvest and thanks his guests, telling them that they are welcome to stay and enjoy the evening. 

And then finally they step outside into the night, Onyx trailing after them as a bodyguard. Candles in jars have been lit along the path, leading the way to the palace. It's romantic, Jack thinks, and he moves a little closer to Pitch. As they walk Jack feels something wet hit his arm. He looks around to see what could have splashed him, but sees nothing in the darkness beyond the candlelight. 

"Finally," Pitch says and he holds out a hand, and Jack sees a fat drop of water splash in his palm. "It's been a dry summer, and there's barely been any rain over the past few months."

"Rain...?" More water hits Jack's arms and he stares at it. A sense of great wonder spreads through Jack; feeling rain on his skin is as unreal as seeing a dragon, and his connection with the weather only deepens that wonder. He closes his eyes and feels the heaviness of the clouds and the release of the rain. It makes him feel relaxed and powerful all at once; he feels as though the rain is washing away all of his stresses and anxieties of the night, all his earlier worries. As the wind spirals around him and the rain gets harder, he laughs, delight springing to life. "Rain!" He opens his eyes and grins at a bemused Pitch, spreading out his arms and feeling the drops of cool water against his skin, tipping back his head to let the rain wash over his face. 

The rain gets harder still, soaking Jack's robe; when he looks at Pitch again, he sees water running over his skin, dripping from hair and nose. He's looking at Jack with a crooked grin, desire in his eyes. Jack glances down at himself; the wet robe is almost completely see-through, and it clings to his body in a most becoming way.

 _Teasing,_ Jack thinks, and laughs again, deeper this time, a touch sultry. He steps forward to rest his hands against Pitch's chest and grins up at him. "Do you like what you see, my king?"

"Always," Pitch says and he pulls Jack closer, pressing their mouths together. Jack runs his tongue against Pitch's upper lip and presses in, tasting cider on Pitch's tongue. 

By the time they pull apart, both of them are completely soaked but both of their smiles are wide. They gaze at each other for a long moment, until Onyx clears her throat. 

A blush creeps over Jack's cheeks and he steps back to give her an embarrassed smile. She's standing a few feet away with her hands behind her back and dripping wet. "I'm so sorry, Onyx." 

"Perhaps you could continue this inside?"

When they arrive at Jack's room, Pitch leaves him to dry and change and goes to do the same himself, promising to return for a goodnight kiss and perhaps a little more. 

He doesn't keep Jack waiting long. 

Jack has time to dry and pull on a bed robe, but only moments later there is a brief rap on the door. Pitch steps in, wearing a bed robe too, one with a deep-v neck revealing a toned chest and stomach. Jack greets him with a kiss that quickly grows indecent. The thought that if he chooses not to stay, this might be one of the last chances he has to be with Pitch, only makes Jack want him more. And yet the thought of doing anything here, the only place Jack has to call his own, makes him uneasy.

"Wait," Jack says breathlessly, and rests his hand against Pitch's chest. "Is there somewhere else we can- This is the only place that's mine and-"

"It's your sanctuary," Pitch says, understanding instantly. "We could go to my rooms, if you like."

Jack looks up with wide eyes. "Your rooms? You- you would let me into your rooms?"

Pitch pauses and cocks his head. "Are you thinking of the courtesans in Lunanoff again? You must know by now that they're not the same."

Bowing his head, Jack bites his lip. In truth he was thinking about Karine. If these are the rooms that Pitch shared with Karine - the same bed - then is he really happy to take Jack there? Of course he doesn't say that; he'll never mention her unless Pitch does first. That was a lesson his father taught him well. 

"I would be honoured to see your rooms."

With a smile, Pitch takes Jack's hand and leads the way. 

When they get to Pitch's room, Jack only has time to notice a large bed before Pitch pushes him against a wall and presses close against him, biting his lip and grabbing a handful of his hair. The other hand goes to Jack's waist, resting firmly and confidently. Jack can feel Pitch's erection pressed against his stomach through their robes, and he gives a shivery moan. 

"Pitch," he whispers, and kisses him, arms going around Pitch's neck and pushing up onto his tiptoes. He loses himself in the sensations, the touches and the scents, the taste and the sound of Pitch whispering his name. He's so hard, achingly hard, and he whimpers as rubs himself against Pitch's thigh. Pitch gives something like half a growl and nips at Jack's lip before going back to thoroughly ravishing his mouth. 

"Make me come," Jack gasps between kisses. "I don't care how, just make me come."

Pitch grins and pulls Jack towards the bed. Shrugging out of his own robe, Pitch lies down. Jack stares at him. He tries to appreciate everything - the long legs, the toned torso, even the long white scars that mar his skin - but all he can focus on is Pitch's cock. It's the first time he's seen it so clearly; all other times were while their bodies were pressed together so that Jack couldn't see it, or while his eyes were closed. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, and continues to look for long moments. Pitch lies there and strokes Jack's hand, letting him look as much as he likes. Slowly Jack lifts a hand and reaches over to wrap his fingers around Pitch's cock, feeling the heat, the girth. 

_I wonder what it would feel like inside me,_ Jack thinks, and a blush spills over his cheeks. He's not even let Pitch put his fingers inside him; he's certainly not ready for anything else. But still - would it hurt? Would it feel good? Biting his lip, he starts to stroke Pitch's cock, watching as his eyes fall shut and he lets out a shuddering breath. 

"What do _you_ want?" Jack asks him. 

"You," Pitch says simply, opening his eyes. "Any way I can have you."

The sincerity makes Jack smile. "I know you had a plan. Tell me."

"I was thinking that we're both too drunk for anything complex, so I was thinking something simple: you on top of me and I could bring us both off with my hand."

Jack nods. "Simple sounds good."

Pitch reaches for Jack's hand and pulls him down to straddle him. Jack's hands rest on the bed either side of Pitch's shoulders and he leans in for another kiss. And then Pitch pushes aside the folds of Jack's robe to take his cock in hand. He gives a few slow strokes before wrapping his long fingers around his own cock too. Jack groans at the heat of Pitch's cock against his own, at the firm pressure as Pitch starts to stroke them. 

Everything is easy and relaxed. Jack smiles at Pitch, feeling comfortable and safe, and leans down to kiss him, wet and slow. The pleasure builds slowly, like a sweet heat pooling in his belly and spreading through him. As he feels himself getting close, he pulls back to look at Pitch. There's a tug in his chest, a sweet ache. This is where he wants to be; this is where he belongs. 

_This feels right,_ Jack thinks, and then cries out as his orgasm crashes over him. 

Jack collapses on top of Pitch, breathing ragged, and Pitch comes shortly after, as though Jack's orgasm thrust him over the edge. Jack can feel spurts of warmth over his stomach. Pitch holds him tightly, so tightly, his hand clenched in Jack's hair. Jack feels so close to him, closer than he's ever felt with anyone, blissed out and drunk and happier than he's ever been.

"I love you, Jack," Pitch whispers. 

Jack jerks up despite his post-orgasmic lethargy and the way the room seems to be spinning slightly. 

No-one has ever said those words to Jack, and his drunk mind doesn't know what to do with them, whether to believe, whether to doubt.

It feels like a dream - maybe it is a dream. Jack laughs, and he wants to cry a little as well. Can Pitch truly love him?

He looks for any sign that Pitch is joking, but all he sees is a tired, satisfied smile and deep affection in his eyes. Jack smiles. Just for now, he decides to believe. Just for now, he lets joy trickle through him.

Maybe the morning will show things as they really are, but for now Jack clings to that belief. 

_He loves me._

Jack lowers his head and they lie there for a long moment, breathing together, Pitch stroking Jack's hair; until Pitch pushes gently at Jack's shoulder. 

"Let's get you cleaned up," he says. Jack rolls onto his back to let Pitch up, and he can't seem to stop smiling. 

He laughs lightly and puts a hand over his eyes. He's too drunk to deal with this. They're probably too drunk too deal with it. 

"Is everything alright?" Pitch asks, returning with a towel and cleaning Jack up gently. 

"Everything's great," Jack says, and kisses him. 

"Yes. It is."

Jack drinks a glass of water that Pitch presses into his hands.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Pitch asks, and Jack grins, nodding. On top of everything else, that's just too much. It's the perfect end to a wonderful night. Surely this must be a dream; but if it is, Jack's not at all sure he wants to wake up. 

With a hand gesture, Pitch snuffs out the lights. He puts a hand over Jack's waist and pulls him close. Jack tries to consider everything - that confession - but alcohol and tiredness finally catch up to him, and sleep overcomes him. 

===

Jack wakes, and instantly knows where he is. He _knows_ , but can't quite believe it. 

Pale morning light streams through unfamiliar windows. There's a freshness in the air, a newness. 

He shifts in the bed, trying to turn to look at Pitch while making as little movement as possible, not wanting to wake him. He's not successful; when he sees Pitch, his silver-gold eyes are open and he is smiling. 

"Good morning," Jack whispers, as though anything louder might break the spell that seems to have settled over him, ridding him of all the worries that have been plaguing him so of late. 

"Good morning," Pitch whispers back, and kisses Jack gently. When he pulls away, Jack rests his head on Pitch's chest, listening to his heartbeat. 

It's a peaceful moment, precious, and Jack wants to stay in it forever. No choices, no politics, no worrying or fretting. Only him and Pitch, and _I love you_ fresh in Jack's memory. He smiles; maybe Amber was right. Of all the things he needs to worry about, Pitch's affection is not one of them. 

"I want to give you something," Pitch says, and slides out of bed. Jack pushes up on his elbows, eyes trailing up and down Pitch's naked body, long and lean, muscles strong and shifting under grey skin as he moves. Jack swallows thickly, desire waking in him. "I was going to give it to you as a gift for after the promise month, if you decided to stay, but I want you to have it whatever you decide."

He's standing at a dresser, his back to Jack. Around him, Jack sees a small chest, and puddles of gold and silver chains. A small statue of a tree, made of silver, stands at one side of the dresser. Its branches are bare save for a single necklace holding a golden locket. 

When Pitch turns, he has something in his hand. Sitting on the bed, he reaches for Jack's hand and drops a silver necklace into his palm. The pendant is in the shape of the crescent moon, a milky moonstone at one of the points. 

"My father spent most of my fourteenth birthday in Iscadin," Pitch says quietly. "In peace talks with your mother."

Jack's head jerks up and he stares at Pitch with wide eyes. "My mother?"

"It was the only time that the Moon Queen came to Umbra. They were hoping that if they talked in person, they could come to an accord that their councillors could not. There was no agreement, but they liked one another. As they were leaving, my father mentioned that it was my birthday, and the queen took off her necklace and gave it to him, to give to me as an apology for keeping my father away on my birthday. My own mother died when I was very young, so this felt- special. An act of kindess that I've always remembered, and a gift I've always treasured. And now I want you to have it."

Staring down at the necklace, Jack runs his fingers over it. He's never been given anything that belonged to his mother before. Everything is kept in the shrine his father keeps in the west wing, and though Jack has broken in more than once, it's not the same as being given something. Something that Pitch treasured, no less, that he wants Jack to have whether he stays or no. It feels like a gift from both his mother and Pitch, and he wraps his arms around Pitch tightly.

"Thank you," he whispers. "This means so much to me."

"You're very welcome, Jack," Pitch says, and kisses Jack's hair. Jack opens his mouth to ask about what Pitch said. _I love you._ It seems almost like it was a dream, and Jack wants to ask about the truth of it, but he doesn't dare. What if it _was_ a dream? What if Pitch refutes it? 

But no - Jack holds the proof of it in his hand. He pulls back and looks at the necklace again. "Can I put it on?"

"Of course," Pitch says. He fastens it for him, and Jack looks down at the silver crescent against his pale skin. Pitch pulls him to his feet and leads him away from the bed. Jack lets himself be pulled, curious but happy for Pitch to lead him wherever he will. 

They end up before a mirror, so that Jack can look at his necklace properly. But it's not the necklace he's looking at. With Pitch standing behind him, looking at their reflections. Jack is reminded of that first day in Umbra. Jack had been so afraid that day, so disconcerted by the markings and the collar and cuffs. He barely notices them now, and when he does he rather likes them, the markings especially. Yes, they mark him out as a courtesan, but they mark him as _wanted_. He pulls the robe off his shoulders so that he can see them. Instantly Pitch's hands go to them, tracing the patterns. That easy intimacy makes Jack's heart ache a little, especially with how comfortable Pitch is, naked in his presence. _He loves me,_ Jack thinks, suddenly sure, and smiles. 

Jack's gaze looks up to meet Pitch's in the mirror. "We look good together," he says, and Pitch gives him a bright smile. 

"We do," he says, and Jack turns in his arms to kiss him, feeling like he's home for the first time in his life.


	9. Chapter 9

The last day of the promise month begins beautifully, the sky growing lighter through purple and pink and yellow, and now, finally, a light, fragile blue.

Jack sits out on his balcony, hugging his knees into his chest. He hasn't slept much. For a few moments he thinks he knows what his choice will be, and then his doubts raze through him like a forest fire, leaving ragged holes in his certainty.

He sighs. The only thing that he is certain of is that by sunset today, he will have made his choice, one way or the other. 

Standing up, he walks around the edge of the balcony, trailing a finger along the magical shield, white and blue blooming out behind him as it reacts to his aura. He's trying to think about what Amber said - that he has to think about what he wants from his life, and if he can get that from being a courtesan. What _does_ he want? If he'd been asked that on Lunanoff, he would have said he wanted to be free to do whatever he liked, to run on the rooftops and spend time with Jamie. He sees now how small that sense of freedom was.

Here in Umbra, freedom is as vast as the mountains and the forests. But that freedom comes with a price: either to be Pitch’s courtesan, or to find some kind of work. 

Onyx said people would pay to look at him, but the autumn festival showed the problems with that. Jack likes people paying attention to him but he doesn't like being gawked at like he's some interesting piece of jewellery. He wants people to be interested in _him_. Not Jack-the-courtesan. Not Jack-the-Moon-Prince. But him, as a person. Perhaps he could deal with being paraded in front of others, but he's not sure he could be happy.

So what if he stays? Bound to Pitch for all of his life, subject to his whims. Doing whatever Pitch wants of him. That's not really fair, though; so far Pitch has been kind and generous, not pushed Jack any further than he's been willing to go. Will that change if Jack says yes, though? Without any need to persuade Jack, will Pitch's kindness continue?

Jack touches his pendant. Pitch gave him this. He didn't have to, but he did. Was it truly from kindness, or was it a ploy to convince Jack to stay? Both, Jack thinks, neither simple altruism nor pure manipulation.

There's a knock at the door, and Jack stands. It'll be Pitch. Normally the courtesan wouldn't see the king until sunset, when their decision had been made, but Jack asked if Pitch would breakfast with him; he wants to put some of the questions that are racing through his head to Pitch.

Pitch comes out onto the balcony, already dressed. As he looks at Pitch, Jack sees a little wariness in his eyes. No wonder; Jack's decision will have an impact not just on Pitch but on Umbra as a whole. Jack tries not to think of that. Instead he puts his arms around Pitch's waist, resting his head on his chest. Pitch holds him tightly. For a moment they stand there in silence and Jack tries to think about never having this again; never hearing Pitch's heartbeat and soft breathing, smelling his smoky scent, feeling his warmth. He closes his eyes against the thought. This is about more than that. He has to think about more than that.

Pulling back, Jack leads him to the sofa and they sit there in silence for a moment. Jack resumes his former position, legs hugged into his chest.

“Did you sleep well?” Pitch asks and Jack shakes his head.

“Not really.”

“Nor I.”

Another knock at the door and breakfast is set on the table before them. Jack picks at it, not hungry. Pitch seems as listless as he is, though he rarely eats much. He seems lost in thought, though his gaze jumps to Jack several times. The silence is uneasy, a rare thing for them, and Jack decides to start his questions.

“So,” Jack starts. “I wanted to ask you some things. To help me make my decision. Maybe you'll think I'm being impertinent. I might even break some Umbran traditions I don't know about, and if I do I'm sorry. But I need to ask them, because if I'm going to be spending the rest of my life here, I need to know if I'm going to be happy.”

“Alright,” Pitch says, inclining his head. He is still distant and cool, and it hurts Jack's heart a little. He understands; Pitch is distancing himself to save the pain if Jack says no, but it still hurts.

Taking a deep breath, he begins. “If I stay, I need more freedom. I need to be outside more, I want to explore, I want to climb trees and I want to learn to swim. I can't just stay here in my rooms when you're at court or in the city.”

“It's not safe for you to go out on your own-”

“Then Onyx can come with me. Or someone else. But I can't stay here, trapped, with no way out. I'll be miserable.”

Pitch looks at him for a long moment and then sighs. “Onyx comes with me to court and to meetings more often than not. And there are few other people I trust enough.” He pauses and gazes out at the view, frowning. “Perhaps one of the guards. I'll speak to them. If this is non-negotiable, I’ll find a solution.”

“Thank you.” Compromise, just like Amber said. “And the other big thing - I want to learn to use my magic. I want the binding off.”

There's another long moment of silence “That is a very big thing to ask, Jack.”

“I know. But being here - I can feel the weather, you know? And part of me - my magic - wants to reach out and touch it, but I can't. It's frustrating, and it's - It's like being caged.”

Pitch sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I can't just remove the binding, Jack. You don't know how to use your magic. You need training, and that would take years.”

“I'm happy to learn, I'll do anything I need to-”

“It's not just that. You're _very_ powerful.”

Jack blinks. “Am I?”

“You're an ice mage of the Selanan royal family. That you're powerful goes without saying. Jethryn said that you're one of the most powerful mages he's ever met.”

“But-” Jack stops, not knowing how to continue. “Is that why my family bound my magic?” He sounds lost and hurt, and he's certainly not expecting an answer, but Pitch gives a bitter laugh.

“I have many ideas about why your family bound your magic, and few of them are as charitable as that.” He sighs. “Still - if your magic was unbound while you’re untrained, that's a terrible risk.”

Jack blinks. “Do- do you not trust me?”

“Whether or not I trust you is beside the point. You don't know how to control your magic, and that makes you dangerous.”

“Whether you trust me is exactly the point,” Jack says. “I want more freedom and if you don't trust me, you're not going to give it to me.”

“Don't you see my situation? Weather mages have always been rare, and have _always_ been feared. If your magic went out of control it could destroy weather patterns around the globe. It could be more devastating that the spell that ended the Great War. It happened before, though on a smaller scale, and I can't risk it happening again.”

“What?” Jack sits up a little, frowning; he has no idea what Pitch means.

“The Ice War. Don't they teach you that in Lunanoff?” Jack shakes his head and Pitch gives a snort of derision. “Of course they don't. Five hundred years ago, the Umbran king turned down a marriage to a Selenan princess. Things went rapidly downhill from there, and culminated in the Selenan king causing the ice from the North Pole to creep south over the north of Umbra. After, he said that he only meant it to happen a little, as a threat, but he lost control and the ice spread over once-fertile farmlands that have been useless ever since, trapped in permafrost. There was a great famine, and tens of thousands of people died - there would have been more deaths, if Selena had not sent plant mages to help boost our remaining crops, as an act of contrition.

“So you see my dilemma, Jack. I can't risk that happening again.”

“I've never heard that story before,” Jack murmurs, shocked that his own ancestor's foolishness could cause so many deaths - and that it was due to the magic that Jack shares, the magic that feels so natural, so right.

“I suspect there are many stories you've not heard before. All nations write their own history, but isolated on the moon, you don't even have a chance to see anything of the world your people used to share with us.” Pitch sighs and waves a hand dismissively. “But that's not the issue at hand.” He pauses for a long time, gazing out at the forests. 

Perhaps it’s not, but it makes Jack uncomfortable to think that the history he knows has been selective – that the people of Lunanoff have not been told of any of their nation’s failings and mistakes. It seems controlling, manipulative; and if they don’t know of their mistakes, how can they learn from them?

Pitch shifts to take Jack’s hand, and looks at him for long moments. “We could ease the binding, so that you'll be able to access a little magic, and Jethryn will teach you control. And as you learn more, we can ease the binding more. I can't make any promises about removing the binding completely, but I can promise that we can lessen it, and that we'll try and teach you.”

“Really?” 

Pitch nods, and then after a pause, he leans in to kiss Jack. His fingers trace the edge of Jack’s collar, then curl in his hair, gentle but claiming. It makes Jack shiver. He loves that possessiveness; loves the feeling of being _wanted_. 

When Pitch moves away, obviously exercising a great deal of restraint, Jack resists the urge to grab the front of his robe and pull him back. 

“Just one more thing,” Jack says, hoping he's doing the right thing. “You said you loved me.”

Pitch goes very still and after a moment he meets Jack's eyes. “I did. And I do.”

Jack’s trying to be serious, but he can't stop the smile that springs to his lips, or the lightness that fills his heart. “You only said it that one time, though. Why?”

“I didn't say it before because it would be manipulative. I only said it _then_ because I was drunk.”

Jack pauses. “I know that alcohol lowers inhibitions. But did it make you more open to saying it, or more open to being manipulative?”

With a dark chuckle, Pitch bows his head. “Which indeed, Jack.” 

Pitch doesn't say any more; it seems that is all the answer he is getting. “That’s all the questions I had,” he says quietly. 

Pitch nods and gives Jack a brief kiss before stepping back. “I'll leave you to think. And when you're ready... Come to see me.”

Jack is left alone with his thoughts, but they seem to circle back on each other endlessly, doubts making him reconsider again and again. 

When Onyx and Amber arrive, he’s grateful for the distraction. 

“I thought you might as well wear something comfortable,” Amber says, handing him the clothes, and Jack smiles gratefully at her. “When Onyx comes to take you to the king, I’ll bring the robe you asked for.”

“Thanks.”

“And if you want something else for when you're giving Pitch your answer, just ask the guards to come get me.”

Jack nods and then gestures to the balcony. “Can you come and sit with me for a while? Or do you need to leave?”

“We're here for as long as you need us.”

Jack goes to change, a simple cream tunic and brown trews. He frowns at his reflection. These aren’t what he feels comfortable in any more, he thinks. Without a robe, he feels like something is missing. 

He goes to join Onyx and Amber on the balcony. Onyx is standing by the wall with her arms folded, while Amber sits on the sofa, sipping juice, eating some of the pastries. Jack smiles, remembering Onyx admonishing her for the same thing the first day he met her. Today Onyx is quiet and pensive. If Jack says no, she will have to deal with Pitch, he realises, both as a king and as her cousin. Jack thinks for a moment about how much his saying no would hurt Pitch and bites his lip. He knows that he needs to be selfish today, to make the decision that’s right for him, but the thought of hurting Pitch makes pain twist in his chest. 

“You know,” Jack says, picking up a piece of fruit and nibbling on it absentmindedly. “I was going to ask you questions, to help me decide, but I don't think there's anything I can ask that'll really help. Is there anything you think I should know?”

Amber and Onyx's eyes meet for a moment, and then Onyx sighs. “All I would say to you is just to be aware that Pitch is showing you his good side. There's darkness in him. Things won't always be easy. But I love him, even though I've seen the worst of him. And he always treated Karine and Seraphina wonderfully and I know he'll do the same to you.”

“What do you mean, darkness?”

Onyx is silent for a moment, as if she doesn't want to say anything bad about Pitch, but Amber steps in.

“He has a temper. He likes things to go his way - he likes to be in control. His moods can be unpredictable... But in the end, I think those things are true of any of us. I think what Onyx is really saying is that all those doubts, all that fear and anger inside of you? Pitch has those things too. This kind, gentle person he's been presenting to you is real, but it’s only one side of him.”

“I get that - I've seen some of it. He lost his temper when we were in Iscadin, and I saw how upset he was when I went into the gallery. But- I don't think he'd hurt me.”

“Oh, of course he wouldn't hurt you,” Amber says, moving closer to him and taking his hand. “That's not what I mean at all. It's just - he's been showing you this idealised version of himself. We just want to be sure that you know that's not all there is to him.”

“I know. I get that.” Jack sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I'm just grasping for something definitive, something that'll make me know for sure that I'm making the right choice.”

“There's no such thing, Jack,” Amber says, giving him a sad smile. “You have to make up your own mind and hope for the best.”

“I think- I think I know what I'm going to choose. I'm going to spend some more time thinking about it but- for now, can you just talk? Tell me stories about Umbra, or Pitch.”

They while away the morning telling Jack about places he’s never seen, weaving tales of beaches and plains, of the stark beauty of the wild north. 

Then there are tales of young Pitch: trying to show off his knowledge to the tutor but being bested by Onyx, two years younger than him; of plotting ways to sneak cakes out of the kitchen; of sneaking out of the palace to ride into Iscadin and causing a panic.

Eventually though, they have to go, and Jack resists the urge to beg them to stay. He can't put it off any longer. He has to think. He has to make a decision.

===

Jack explores all his rooms and the rooms on his corridor. He goes back out onto his balcony and thinks some more.

He thinks about how Pitch loves him, and how that makes him feel warm and light and _special_. But will Pitch always love him? What if he changes his mind, and Jack is trapped here, ignored by Pitch just as he was ignored by his father?

He thinks about Jamie, about his brothers and sister, about never seeing them again, and his heart hurts.

And then he thinks about Amber and Onyx and Monty, his friends.

About this incredible world with its forests and mountains and lakes.

He thinks about the possibility of staying in Umbra if he says no, and what it would be like for people to stare at him all day as though he's a statue, not caring about _him_ but only the way he looks.

He thinks about the war that is inevitable if he says no.

And most of all he thinks about freedom, of all the different meanings it can have. Of what it means to him.

He doesn't want to make a decision but he knows he has to.

The sun dips low in the sky and letting out a shaky breath, he nods. 

He knows what he’s going to choose.

Truthfully he knew days ago, he’s just been avoiding making it final but now he’s out of time. 

There's a knock at the door and Jack takes a deep breath. Onyx steps in and looks at Jack with questions in her eyes. Ever the professional, she doesn't ask any of them. Amber comes in, and though there's a slight strain in her smile, it’s warm. She hands him the robe.

He goes into the bathroom to change, grabbing something from the cabinet before dressing. He then looks in the mirror and examines his reflection. Jack asked for this robe in particular. It's a smoky grey-blue, and it's one of the few robes that aren't sheer. It's fastened by intricate silver clasps on the shoulder that are cool against his skin. The rest of it is completely plain, and it drops to the floor where it covers his feet. It's a little more sober than most of his robes. Fitting for such a serious occasion.

“You look beautiful, Jack,” Amber says when he comes out, and pulls him into a tight hug. Jack hugs back, closing his eyes, enjoying the moment. “Remember what I said. Whatever you choose, we'll be here for you. If you choose not to stay, I'll come and see you in Iscadin tomorrow and we'll talk about your next steps. And if you do choose to stay...” She grins. “Then I'll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Amber. For everything. You're wonderful.”

“I know,” she says with a wink. “You're pretty wonderful yourself, Jack. Good luck.”

She kisses his cheek before leaving, and then he is alone with Onyx. She gives him a moment to go out onto the balcony, to breathe in fresh air and to feel the wind on his skin. The sunset is glorious, pinks and purples and yellows, a mirror to the sunrise. It seems like an omen, but if it is, Jack has no idea what it means.

“Jack?” He turns to see Onyx waiting in the doorway to his rooms. “Are you ready?”

After lingering a moment, closing his eyes and smiling as the wind plays with his hair, Jack nods and goes back inside. Onyx gestures at the golden leash, hanging near the door. “Take that with you. If you want to remain the king's courtesan, you'll offer him the leash. If you don't, you'll cast it aside.”

“Alright,” Jack murmurs, taking it in his hands. He looks down at it for a moment. There's the slightest quiver of nervousness in his stomach, but there's no doubt. “Let's go.”

Onyx leads the way, and Jack's heart races as they head down unfamiliar corridors. The stone is cool beneath his feet, and the torches in the wall brackets make the shadows flicker and scurry like something alive. 

Onyx glances behind occasionally, a deep furrow in her brow. Does she fear that he's going to run off? It would be pointless, being that he can claim his freedom now if he wishes. Part of him does want to run, though, to avoid making a decision, to try and put it off a little longer. Truly, though, he knows it wouldn't do any good. The only thing that more time would give him is more chance to worry and fret.

They descend a spiral staircase, one of the towers, and then another long corridor. The ceiling, high above, is draped in darkness; the light of the torches don't reach. It's tall, even for Umbra, and there is more decoration than in most parts of the palace. The usual geometric designs are more intricate, golden inlays in the wall and carved into the pillars.

As they approach, Jack sees a huge set of doors, made of a dark wood. Inlaid gold makes a frame for a carving, not the geometric design but something darker. It reminds Jack of the doors to the shadow room, but he doesn't have the same visceral reaction to them. The pattern is like black ribbons curling and dancing, overlapping, knotting. Trying to follow their paths is almost meditative. All of the patterns converge on a central disc made of a polished black stone. He peers at it, sees his reflection.

“This is the throne room,” Onyx says quietly. “Pitch will be in there. Go in, and kneel before the throne. If you want to remain his courtesan, offer him the leash. If you do not, drop it to the floor and come out. I'll arrange for you to go to Iscadin.”

Jack nods, and turns to her. “You're really helped me. Right from that first day. I was so scared – I had no idea what was happening. But you told me what to expect, let me know what was going on. You were the first one who tried to help me. Thank you, Onyx.”

She gives him a smile of her own, though it wavers. “You are very welcome, Jack. Good luck.”

Pulling open the doors, she stands aside. After taking a deep breath, Jack steps forward, and then looks around with wide eyes.

The room is huge. A hall, a truly vast space. The columns and the walls are grey stone with threads of silver running through them, something Jack's never seen before; the floor is mosaic, black and gold tiles forming repeating patterns of squared spirals. Huge windows line the walls, with large stained glass sections at the top; the place would be even more spectacular in the day with sunlight streaming through them.

And then at the centre of the wall, on a raised dais, is the throne. Two thrones, Jack notices, one for the missing queen. Panic kicks in his stomach but he ignores it. Pitch sits in the other throne, wearing his crown and a heavy, official-looking cloak. Both hands rest in his lap and he watches as Jack approach, torchlight flickers in his eyes.

Five steps lead up to the dais, and Jack stops before them. He meets Pitch's eyes, and sees no emotion in them. His normally expressive face is like a mask. Is this what he looks like while holding court, while doing his kingly duties? It's so different from the Pitch that Jack normally sees and scares him a little, but he kneels, as instructed.

He looks at the floor, examining the patterns, and takes a couple of deep, slow breaths. He runs his fingers over the leather strap at the end of the leash. This is it. Once he does this, there is no going back. His conviction doesn’t waver. He knows what he wants.

One more deep breath and then he looks up to meet Pitch's impassive gaze. 

Jack raises his hand, offering Pitch the leash.

Surprise flickers over Pitch's face and he stands, opening his mouth, but can't seem to force the words out. Coming down the steps, he reaches for the leash, but pauses before his fingers touch it. “Are you sure, Jack?”

Jack's heart aches at Pitch's generosity in giving him another chance, despite how much Jack knows he wants to take the leash. He smiles, knowing he's made the right choice. “I'm sure.”

Pitch takes in and tugs it slightly, indicating for Jack to stand. The instant he does, Pitch sweeps him into a tight embrace. “Jack,” he whispers into his hair. “My courtesan.”

“My king,” Jack whispers back, burying his face into the soft velvet of Pitch's doublet.

After a long moment, Pitch releases him and looks down with awe in his eyes. “I thought you'd say no. I was sure you'd say no.”

Jack shakes his head. “You've changed my life.” He blushes, feeling melodramatic. “I want to be with you. I want to stay in Umbra, and see everything that I can. But what we talked about this morning-”

“I stand by it,” Pitch says solemnly. “But for now, I would very much like to take you outside.”

Jack blinks. He thought for certain that Pitch would want to take him to bed, but it appears he has other plans. “Okay,” Jack says and grins. He’s intrigued, and he’ll never say no to a trip outside, though he very much hopes that Pitch’s bed will be the final destination of the day.

They walk hand-in-hand and step out of the throne room. Onyx's eyes widen and she throws her arms around Pitch's neck. He holds her back for a long moment and Jack smiles, feeling honoured to be allowed to see both of them with their guards down like this.

She pulls back and smiles up at Pitch. “I'm so happy for you,” she says, and then looks over at Jack to smile at him. “And for you. I know you'll be happy together.”

“I think so,” Jack says, reclaiming Pitch's hand.

Onyx can't seem to stop smiling; wider than her normal smile. “I'll get Amber to give you an extra hug from me in the morning,” she tells Jack, and he laughs.

Pitch tells her to prepare the flet, and Jack watches her go, not knowing what Pitch means and not really caring. While they wait for her to return, Pitch leads him to an antechamber off the side of the throne room, every bit as richly decorated. There is a pitcher of wine on a table, and Pitch pours them both a cup. 

Looking at Jack very seriously, he says, "You said I’ve changed your life; you’ve changed mine as well. I’ve been happier with you than I have for many years, and with you by my side, I’m looking forward to the future. So I drink to you, Jack, and to us.”

He drinks deep and Jack does the same, the rich taste of dark wine heavy on his tongue. Pitch leads him to a sofa and they sit, Pitch’s arms around him and his fingers in his hair.

“In a few days I need to return to Iscadin,” Pitch says. “Would you like to come with me? We can stay overnight, and I can show you the city.”

“I’d love to,” Jack says, feeling a flicker of excitement. He thinks about the way he’s viewed cities before – racing over the rooftops of Lunanoff – and grins at the thought of doing the same with Pitch. Somehow, he doesn’t think Pitch would agree to that.

They drink another cup of wine and Pitch tells him about other plans over the next few months: a diplomatic visit to the country east of Umbra; the winter festival.

They’re interrupted when Onyx returns to tell them that everything is ready. 

When they step outside, Jack gives a delighted laugh at the feel of light rain on his skin.

“I would offer you a cover, but I think you're happy without,” Pitch says, and Jack grins up at him.

“I am happy,” he says, and pushes up onto his tiptoes to kiss Pitch. Pitch’s hands go to his waist and Jack feels deep satisfaction spill through him. When they part, Pitch takes Jack’s hand and the leash and leads the way.

They walk along the path, lit by lights in jars just like the one the night of the equinox. It occurs to Jack how strange it is that the candles don’t go out in the rain, but when he looks closer he sees that each jar contains a small crystal giving off yellow light. He steps closer to look at one. “What are they?”

“A crystal from the mines in the east of Umbra. They glow in the dark naturally, and a simple spell enhances it. It's one of our biggest exports.”

“It's beautiful.”

Amongst the trees, twenty feet or so from the ground, there's a string of lights. Not just lights, Jack sees as they get closer. The lights are on a wooden walkway, connecting the trees. It's unlike anything he's ever seen before, otherworldly and ethereal.

There's a staircase winding around the tree, which Pitch leads him up. Jack looks around with wide eyes, feeling like he’s stepped into a story.

The walkway ends on a large platform jutting out from the trunk of the tree. A nest of cushions sits under a canopy, protected from the rain, and a circle of the lights surrounds them.

Pitch gestures at the cushions, but Jack shakes his head. “You sit. I want to show you something.”

Giving him a curious look, Pitch does as he's bidden, settling on the cushions. He casts off the heavy cloak but keeps the crown. Jack swallows thickly. Considering what he has planned, it's fitting that Pitch continues to wear his crown, a mark of authority - a mark that he's in control. Jack likes that; he needs it.

Breathing deeply, trying to find calm, Jack lifts his hands to his shoulders, to the silver clasps. He opens them and the robe falls to the floor, pooling at his feet. Pitch sits up straighter and looks at him with wide eyes. Beneath the robe, Jack is naked. Before he had made his decision, he already knew that if he did stay, that would be the night that he would let Pitch see him naked. He would cast off all of his doubts, overcome his memories, and let Pitch be the first person to see him like this.

The only thing left is a cord around his waist, with a small vial. Pitch's eyes are still focused on Jack, looking up and down his body as if memorising it.

“Can I touch you?” He asks, and Jack nods, stepping within the circle of lights. Pitch shifts to a kneeling position, and Jack grins at the thought that Pitch is kneeling before his courtesan. “Thank you,” Pitch says sincerely. “Amber told me about your reaction when she first tried to dress you. Much as I’ve desired to see you naked, I wondered if you’d ever be comfortable with that.”

“In Lunanoff- before I came here…” Jack trails off, not wanting to think about it. “I was stripped. And I wanted to be sure that I- That we-”

“You don’t have to explain,” Pitch murmurs, and kisses Jack’s hip. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. If you tell me now, I’ll only want to kill someone, and that might spoil the mood.”

Jack laughs. “Just a little.”

His hands go to Jack's hips and slowly explore the skin that has previously been hidden from him. Jack watches, fascinated by the way Pitch's grey fingers look against his own pale skin, until the sensation gets too much and his eyes fall shut. Pitch’s hands go down his thighs, whispering over the inside and down his calves, resting for a moment on the tops of his feet. Then they trace their way back up, touching the cord at his waist.

“It's-”

Pitch shushes him and continues his exploration, reaching around to cup his ass. He slides his hands over Jack's sides and stomach, up to brush thumbs over his nipples and make him gasp. Taking both of his hands, Pitch pulls him down so that he is sitting astride Pitch's thigh. Even through the robe, Pitch’s skin is warm beneath Jack's balls, between his own thighs. When Pitch moves, just a little, the friction takes Jack by surprise and pulls a moan from him.

Pitch leans in and kisses him, sliding his tongue between Jack’s lips, brushing gently against his tongue. The kiss is slow and soft, but so intimate. Pitch’s hands stroke down Jack’s back gently, as though he can’t stop touching him. 

When he pulls back, he smiles. “You're so beautiful, Jack. Thank you for letting me see you like this.”

“I'm your courtesan,” Jack says, and there’s a flash of emotion in Pitch's eyes at hearing the words. “And this-” He pauses to untie the cord and puts the vial into Pitch's hand. “It's- oil. To- ease the way. I mean-” He groans at stumbling over his words, and gives up at being subtle. “I want your fingers inside me,” he says, and it looks like straightforward was the way to go, for Pitch's grin widens.

“Do you now?”

“And more - at some point. But for now. I need to - get used to it.”

“You need to take it slowly,” Pitch says, and leans in to bite lightly at Jack's neck. “Tell me; have you ever done it to yourself?”

“Yes,” Jack says, feeling his cheeks heat up. “But not often.”

“And do you like it?”

“Kind of,” Jack whispers as Pitch continues to bite at his neck. “It's awkward. The angle - I think the angle will be better if someone else- If you-”

“Oh, it will,” Pitch promises, and smiles at him. “I think this is a fitting way to spend our first night together, don't you?”

“That's why I wanted to do this,” Jack says, feeling slightly foolish. “To- give you something I've never given to anyone else.”

Another of those sweet kisses that touch Jack’s heart, and then another, and Jack feels like he is drowning, or floating. But then Pitch’s hand slides down Jack’s body, to the curve of his ass, and panic spikes in Jack. Will it hurt? And what if Jack does something wrong, or says something foolish?

“Wait,” Jack whispers, bowing his head so that it rests on Pitch's forehead.

“We don't have to-”

“No, I want to, I'm just nervous.” He licks his lips. “Would- would you-” He groans. Everything was so much easier when he was thinking about it. He was smooth and confident; Pitch knew exactly what he wanted without him having to ask. Lifting his head, inspired, he puts his hands behind his back, wrists together. Pitch's eyes light up in understanding, and he reaches around to circle his fingers around Jack's wrists.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, and Jack nods. “Tell me. Say it.”

Jack swallows. Being ordered like that makes it easier. “I want you to bind my wrists.”

Pitch gives a pleased noise, like a purr, and releases Jack's wrists, sliding his hands down to rest on Jack's buttocks. Jack tries to move and finds his wrists held together. Twisting, he sees a shadow looping around the rings of his cuffs, and he turns to smile at Pitch.

“Thank you.” 

“I want you so much,” Pitch whispers. “I want to do everything with you. Everything you've never done; things you've never even thought of. I want to make you lose yourself in pleasure. But more than anything, I want to make you happy.”

“I want that,” Jack says, shivering at the intensity in Pitch's voice.

“Good,” Pitch says, and moves one hand to take Jack's leash; the other continues to rest on his ass. “Is that better?”

Jack nods, instantly feeling calmer. All the worries about doing the wrong thing ease and his nerves slip away. He sighs and feels his whole body relax.

“That _is_ better, hmm?” Pitch asks and tugs Jack closer with the leash and kisses him. Jack's eyes fall closed and he lets Pitch take the lead, doing whatever he wants to do.

More slow kisses and Jack relaxes further, deeper, and by the time Pitch pulls back, Jack is smiling, feeling completely calm. He trusts Pitch to look after him. 

After a moment of studying Jack, Pitch lets the chain go and it brushes gently against Jack's cock, cool and hard. He moans at the sensation.

With a chuckle, Pitch takes Jack’s cock in hand, stroking it, making pleasure dance up Jack’s spine. Everything is so _slow_ , but in a good way, building and building. With a moan, Jack lets his head fall back, eyes closed, losing himself in the feeling. It continues until Jack’s thighs start to shake. Pitch gives a deep chuckle and kisses Jack’s neck. He moves back slightly and Jack’s eyes open, watching him.

Pitch picks up the small vial and examines it. “Where did you get this from?”

Jack grins, too relaxed to be embarrassed. “I asked Amber for it a few days ago. I didn't know who else to ask but I knew we'd need it so...”

Removing the cork, Pitch drips a little onto his fingers. It's clear and shines in the light. Nervous excitement leaps in Jack's belly and he pulls on the restraints, not wanting to escape, just wanting to know that they're still there.

“If you want me to stop, just tell me,” Pitch says, and Jack nods.

“I will.”

Reaching around with his other hand, he rests it against Jack's lower back, holding him steady. The hand with oil-slick fingers reaches around lower, thumb and little finger parting his cheeks. Jack gives a choked noise as one finger presses against his hole, not entering, just resting, circling. It feels - good. 

“Please,” Jack whispers, swallowing. “I- Please.”

Pitch smiles, and presses in, just up to the first knuckle. There’s a little pain in the stretch, but it’s good. Better than when he's done it to himself, not just because of the angle, but because he doesn't need to worry about anything other than enjoying it. Pitch knows what he's doing. Pitch will look after him.

Slowly, carefully watching Jack all the while, Pitch slides in deeper, all the way.

“Good?”

“Good,” Jack says shakily, overwhelmed not just by the physical feelings but the knowledge that this is Pitch inside him, that he's made the decision to stay- He pulls on his restraints again and the feeling of being overwhelmed subsides. He just needs to trust Pitch to look after him. That's all he needs to do.

Pitch pulls almost all the way out and then back in, slowly fucking Jack with his finger. Relaxing more and more, any last nerves melt away.

“Another,” he whispers, and Pitch smiles, his eyes shining. The hand on Jack's lower back slides around to stroke Jack's cock, and Pitch leans forward to bite at his jaw.

“You're wonderful, Jack,” he whispers, and presses another finger in. Jack yelps at the stretch. Pitch’s fingers are much bigger than his own, and it burns for a moment; but the hurt fades quickly as his body adapts, getting used to the feeling of being penetrated. Pitch's hand on his cock helps, distracts him from the pain. The strangeness fades too as Pitch slowly fingers Jack, in and out, and Jack feels his orgasm approach, inevitable as sunrise. Part of him wants to ask for another finger but he suppresses it. There'll be time for that later. For now he wants to keep it like this, not too much, not too little.

 _Pitch is inside me._ That's the thought that shoves Jack over the edge and he cries out, coming hard. Pitch strokes him through it, keeps fingering him, and the pleasure continues to wash over Jack in waves. He sobs and shakes, feeling happy and overwhelmed, like he can't take any more and he wants everything all at once.

Pitch withdraws his fingers so that he can hold Jack tightly, until he stops shaking. Even then Pitch continues to hold him and Jack relaxes into his arms and smiles, contentment sinking into his core.

Sitting back, he smiles at Pitch and kisses him. “You come too. On me. I want to see it.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Pitch says, and grins. “I'm going to release your wrists so that you're not lying on them. Do you want me to bind you again?”

Jack nods, and Pitch ties them at the front of Jack's body instead, and then pushes him onto his back. 

He moves to take off his crown, but Jack shakes his head. “Leave it. I- I like it.”

Pitch grins and scratches his nails lightly down Jack’s stomach. “Oh, Jack,” is all he says, and the crown stays. 

He throws his robe aside and Jack stares up in awe at his naked body. He wants to learn the stories behind each scratch and nick. He wants to touch every inch of him, learn how to make Pitch gasp and moan, how to make him feel so good that he loses all control. And his cock - Jack wants to taste it. Wants to know what it feels like to have it inside him. It might take a while until he's ready, but the thought makes Jack bite his lip.

Pitch straddles Jack's hips and takes the leash in one hand, and his cock in the other. He starts to stroke himself and Jack watches, fascinated. Pitch’s strokes are confident and smooth, either taking in the whole length or just the head. All the while he looks down at Jack, desire and possessiveness shining in his eyes. 

And then he comes with a cry, his come spurting over Jack's stomach, warm, heavy droplets.

Pitch braces himself on his arms over Jack, breathing heavily, then lowers himself to Jack’s side, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and curling up against his body. They lie there like that until Pitch’s breathing slows, and he lifts his head. 

“Shall I release you?” 

Jack nods and when his hands are released, he touches Pitch, sliding his hands down his waist and resting there, enjoying the contact. 

They smile at each other, sharing the moment, lost in each other. Jack feels light and happy, more content than he’s ever been. It's a perfect moment and Jack smiles and smiles.

“How do you feel?” Pitch asks, looking closely at Jack.

“Like I made the right choice.”


	10. Chapter 10

Jack doesn't want to wake.

Dreamsand-laced sleep is so pleasant, but when Jack finally, reluctantly opens his eyes, Pitch is sitting on the side of the bed smiling down at him.

Worth waking up for, Jack thinks, and smiles back.

“Good morning,” Pitch says, leaning down to kiss Jack gently. It's a good start to the day, and Jack gives a small, dissatisfied noise when Pitch pulls away.

It's been three days since Jack's choice and he has been sleeping in Pitch's room since. Waking with a warm body pressed against his own is Jack's new favourite experience.

Today though Pitch is already dressed in a high-collared tunic and trousers - tight trousers, Jack sees, that display his thighs nicely. He reaches out a hand to touch and Pitch gently pushes his hand away.

“None of that. I have to go and meet with my councillors before we leave for Iscadin,” Pitch says, stroking Jack's hair absentmindedly. The trip is to meet some ambassadors from Cocor, the country to the east of Umbra. Apparently they come to Iscadin once or twice a year, make preposterous demands, and then leave again, making shallow threats of war. Nothing ever happens, and it sounds like a waste of everyone’s time. 

“Isn’t there even a little time to have some fun?”

“No, or at least not right now. You slept late, Jack.”

“You _let_ me sleep late,” Jack mutters, slightly petulant, and Pitch throws him an amused smile.

“Oh, my apologies.” He stands and offers his hand to Jack, pulling him to his feet. Jack steps closer, and pushes onto tiptoes to kiss Pitch, his hands curling into Pitch's robe to help him balance. Pitch's arms circle his waist and for a moment he lets Jack provide a pleasant diversion.

When he pulls away Jack is tempted to pull him back but he doesn't want to test his luck, not today when he is finally going to see some of the Umbran countryside. “You're very distracting,” Pitch murmurs, leaning in to kiss Jack's forehead, like he can't help himself. Jack's glad that hasn't changed with his acceptance of the courtesan role. It had crossed his mind that perhaps Pitch's prior affection had been nothing more than an attempt convince him to stay, but it's as much in evidence as ever.

“I'm fairly sure that's my job,” Jack says with a grin.

“True,” Pitch says. “And now I must do mine. Amber is waiting in the dressing room. Would you be happy if Onyx came with me, or would you prefer her to stay?”

“Whichever,” Jack says, shrugging. “I trust Amber. And when your meeting is over, we leave, right?”

“Eager, aren't you?”

“Of course I am. I’ve been looking forward to this. I'm going to get to see the city properly, and the river-” He stops, realising how overexcited he sounds, and gives a slightly embarrassed grin.

“I'll do everything I can to make sure that the journey's as good as you hope,” Pitch says, and steps back. He says his farewells, with another kiss when he can't stop himself, and leaves. 

Jack sighs and stretches before pulling on the nearest bed robe. Pitch's. It’s too long for him, and as he goes into the dressing room an excess of black silk trails behind him like stalking shadows.

Amber is facing away from Jack, sorting through a rail of clothes. Her hair is pulled into a high knot and the back of her dress dips low between her shoulder blades, sky blue and gold edging that form a frame for long silvery scars barely visible on her milky skin. Jack gazes at them, feeling a pang of sorrow that she's been hurt so, and hoping ferociously that it wasn't caused by someone from Lunanoff.

“Good morning,” he says, and she looks over her shoulder. Her eye, too, Jack thinks - he's so used to seeing the patch now that he thinks of it more as a fashion accessory than an injury, but the thought that someone he knows might have done that to her sits heavy and sour in his stomach. But then she smiles, warm and bright, and it makes Jack's worries clear like morning fog in the midday sun.

“Good morning,” she says, picks up a pile of carefully-folded clothes. As she hands them over, she raises an eyebrow and touches his neck, just below his jawline. “You look like you had fun last night.”

Jack glances over at the mirror to see what she means. Last night Pitch paid much attention to his neck and shoulder, sucking and biting. He’s left evidence in the form of reddish bruises. Grinning and blushing at the same time, Jack touches them. He likes it, a reminder of Pitch’s desire for him. 

Last night _had_ been fun; he tried to pleasure Pitch with his mouth for the first time, fumbling and awkward and as uncertain as he's ever been, but Pitch seemed to like it well enough and the remembered taste of his come makes Jack bite his lip.

“I'll go and wash, and get dressed,” he says. “You're not going to be bored?”

“Not at all. I'll amuse myself wondering what you and the king got up to last night.” And that's where Onyx would have interrupted, horrified at Amber's forthrightness. But since she isn't here, Jack's blush deepens and he shakes his head.

“Is that not treason or something? Thinking about the king like that - and his courtesan, for that matter.”

“Since he knows that you’re not my type, I'm fairly sure it would only appeal to his pride,” she says and pats his arm. “Take your time, Jack.”

By the time Jack has bathed his hunger is making itself known and he dresses quickly. Navy trews go under a grey-blue robe, open at either side. The belt is embroidered in a silver pattern that echoes his markings. As he looks at his reflection, he decides to do something for Amber. She puts so much effort into making his clothes, but she's far more than just a dresser. Every time that Jack has felt helpless or confused, she has helped him untangle his thoughts and find his calm. She's a true friend. Perhaps when he's learned to use his magic a little, he can make her something from ice.

It shouldn't be long now until his lessons start, and a thrill of excitement skipping through Jack at the thought. Jethryn is researching how best to dim the binding in the collar, and then the teaching can begin.

Back in the dressing room, Amber adjusts his robe and the tie of the belt, and then he's allowed to break his fast.

“Do you have any recommendations for what to see in Iscadin?” Jack asks between bites of pastry.

“Hmm,” Amber says, and ticks the points off on her fingers. “The waterfront at sunset. The harbour during the day, when it's busy - the best place for people watching. Though I doubt the king would let you do that. The royal residence is beautiful as well. If you're going to be there on your own while Pitch is in meetings, have a look around.”

The thought of being locked up in yet another room quells his enthusiasm a little. “I'm sure it's beautiful but I'm much more interested in the city. I want to get out and see things, you know?”

Amber looks thoughtful for a moment and then smiles. “Why don't I have a word with the king? I'll be going down there to dress the two of you, and since all my equipment is up here, I won't have much to do during the day. We can go exploring together.”

Jack's eyes widen and hope fills him. “Do you think he'll say yes?”

“It's worth a shot, don't you think?”

===

Jack spends the entire journey to Iscadin staring out of the carriage at the passing scenery. With Pitch's hand over his shoulders and his warmth by his side, he makes the occasional comment about a passing feature but other than that they sit together and watch the world go by.

From Lunanoff, the world is beautiful but so distant that everything looks the same, green lands and blue seas.

Now Jack looks out at the changing landscapes with awe. Even just this hour long journey to the city reveals meadows and forests, green hills, farmlands golden with ripe corn.

He wants to get out of the carriage and explore all of these wonders, but there'll be time enough for that later. This is home now, Jack thinks with a smile. He has his whole life to explore, if Pitch lets him.

“Did Amber ask if she could take me out into the city today?” Jack asks, tearing his gaze away from the view. Pitch's eyes are as golden as the cornfields, and he smiles down at Jack.

“She did. I said yes.”

Delight shimmers through Jack and he kisses Pitch. “Thank you.” That had been worrying him. If Pitch hadn't let him go out with Amber, who he obviously trusts, that would be telling of his chances at further freedoms.

Slowly more houses appear as the farmland shifts to city. In the distance, the city looks like a forest, stone and slate replacing leaf and bark.

The carriage skirts the edge of the city, and approaches a tall stone wall with large black gates that are manned by guards in armour more ornate than any Jack has seen in the palace. As they pass through the gates, Jack gets his first glimpse of the royal residence. It’s a huge house – probably as large as the palace in Lunanoff – with many windows that glint in the sun. 

The carriage comes to a stop before the house and Pitch helps Jack down. He looks around curiously. There is a manicured garden with shaped bushes and cut grass. It is much more organised that the palace gardens; tamer. It’s a little disappointing; Jack likes that touch of wildness.

Stone stairs leading up to the main doors are cool under his feet, and as they step inside, Alden is waiting for them. He bows to the king and then smiles at Jack before speaking. “The carriage is waiting to take us to the city hall, Pitch,” he says. “We should go over the final details of the meeting on the way.”

Annoyance flickers over Pitch's face but he nods. “I'll be down in a few moments,” he says, before leading Jack up a set of dark wooden stairs. At the top there is a long corridor; a lone guard waits outside one of the doors. He has slightly different armour to that of the guards in the palace. It's darker and plainer, and his cloak is lined with grey rather than gold. He also doesn't wear a helmet, and Jack can see that the man is older, lowborn, with close-cropped white hair and brown eyes that look at Jack coolly.

“This is Dannel,” Pitch says. “He's been the captain of the guard here since I was a boy. If you need anything, just ask him.”

Jack smiles up at Dannel. “Good morning,” he says, and receives a curt nod in return.

“I'm at your service, courtesan.”

Jack opens his mouth to say _call me Jack_ but thinks better of it. Dannel doesn’t seem very friendly. Or perhaps he’s just proper, as all the guards seem to be. Not a one of them has so much as spoken to Jack so far, so even Dannel's flat reply is an improvement.

Pitch pushes open the door and ushers Jack in to a living room. It’s sparsely decorated even for Umbra, only a pair of armchairs and a large bookcase. Jack guesses that Pitch doesn't stay here often, considering his ability to travel through the shadows. Still, Jack's grateful for the offer to stay here tonight. He wants to see as much of Umbra as possible - and to enjoy nights with Pitch inmany places, too.

“How many royal residences are there?” Jack asks, turning to Pitch.

“Five.”

“Can we stay in them all?”

“If you wish,” Pitch says, and looks at Jack curiously. “What's your sudden interest?”

Jack grins and goes over to Pitch, resting a hand on his chest. “Oh, nothing, really. I was just thinking that you could pleasure me in each of them.”

Pitch gives a startled laugh and pulls Jack to him. “You have the most wonderful ideas,” he says, and kisses him, a hand curling in Jack's hair. Pitch presses his tongue into Jack's mouth, lapping against his, and slides a hand under the slit in Jack's robe to roam over his skin, exploring, and Jack moans as his fingers brush over his nipples.

They're interrupted by a knock at the door and Pitch pulls away with a sigh.

“Alden growing impatient, no doubt.” He pulls Jack's robe back into place. “Amber should be here shortly in any case.” He leans in to give Jack a gentle kiss and then steps back. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

“Doubtful,” Pitch says with a sigh and then leaves Jack to wait for Amber.

Jack barely has time to look out of the window before she arrives. She wears a cloak over her dress and has a bundle of clothes in her arms.

“Here,” Amber says when Jack lets her in. She slips a tunic over his robe. It’s long sleeves cover his markings. She fastens it with a soft leather belt and then pulls a hood over his hair, fastening it in place with a twisted circlet of silver. “There we go. Now no-one will know who you are.”

“Are we leaving the carriage?”

“I convinced the king to agree to lunch by the river. I did mention walking around the city, but he said it was too dangerous. He's probably right.”

Jack tries to push aside his disappointment. He hadn't really expected to see the city on foot - he hadn't expected to leave the carriage at all, so this is still a pleasant surprise. “Do you think he'll ever let me walk around the city?”

“I'm sure he will at some point, though probably only when he's with you. The Lord of Shadows can offer a lot more protection than a dressmaker and a single guard.”

“I'm pretty sure you could do a good job of protecting me - and there's a lot more to you than just being a dressmaker.”

She beams at him and pats his arm. “Ah, you know me too well, Jack. I'm starting to think I should worry about that.”

Dannel joins them as they head down to the carriage. Jack's slightly deflated to know that he'll be coming with them, but he pushes it away. The guard is just doing his job.

As the carriage sets off, Jack watches the world pass by until they pull up at a wooden gate. Dannel picks up the picnic basket and Jack tries not to laugh; a fully armoured guard carrying a picnic basket is a little ridiculous. Amber links her arm with his and they follow Dannel through the gate, and down a staircase cut into a hillside. Tall trees on all sides block the view, but when they come back out into the sunlight, Jack stares.

The river is wide, sparkling in the sunlight. To the left it disappears around a bend, but to his right it stretches into the distance until a bridge at the city's edge blocks it from sight. Jack walks closer to the edge and gazes down at the water, shining sliver as it flows by. If the lake in the palace gardens has more water than he had ever imagined, this is almost beyond belief.

“How can there not be enough water for everyone?”

“The river flows from Selena,” Amber says, joining him. “It's tainted. There's a lot of water but so little of it is safe to drink. If there was a way to purify it...” She trails off and sighs. “But no-one's found a way.”

“There must be a way,” he says. “With magic, or _something_.”

“This isn't Lunanoff, Jack. Mages are rare here, and almost all of them are shadow mages, nothing that would help. And nothing like this has ever happened before; there are no spells to purify this kind of tainting.” She puts a hand on his back. “But it's fading, slowly. Now we're able to offer some of our water - and you helped with that treaty. Even if it's not something you chose, you should still be proud of that.”

“I guess,” he says, and sighs, feeling dissatisfied with the answer, even though he knows it must be true. People wiser and more learned than him have been trying for centuries to solve the problem of the tainted water to no avail. 

Amber leads him away from the water's edge. She lays out the lunch, cheese and meat and fresh bread, on a large blanket, and as Jack sits down to eat, he can't look away from the view. On the far side a small boat passes, its sole occupant looking over at them in disinterest. The trees on all side are bright and vibrant, and the playful wind makes the leaves look like a crackling fire. Soon they will fall and the branches will be dark skeleton fingers reaching up to winter skies. As much as Jack's looking forward to snow and ice, he feels a little sad at the thought of the world losing such beauty. 

“Do you want a cloak?” Amber asks, pulling her own around her a little more tightly. “It's getting chilly.”

“I'm fine,” Jack says. If anything, he's a little too warm in the long sleeves.

“It could be because you're an ice mage. Maybe you won't need any of the cloaks I've designed for you,” she says with a sigh. “I've been working on this one, gorgeous black velvet lined with silver, and I was going to embroider so that it looks like it's covered with frost.”

“I could still wear it, even if I don't need it,” Jack says and then grins at her. “Maybe I could wear it with nothing underneath.”

She laughs and claps her hands in delight. “Oh Jack! Pitch will _love_ that! I hope he appreciates his courtesan's genius.”

“I think he will when he sees it.”

They eat and chat, Dannel standing uncomfortably behind them, shaking his head stoically when Amber offers him some food.

“I used to come here with Onyx,” Amber says. “Back when I first started working for the king. When the weather was nice, we'd walk hand in hand into the city along the river.”

“You don't do that anymore?”

She shakes her head. “She's first in line to the throne now - third, officially, but...” She trails off. “Things are more complicated now. And it's not exactly a romantic walk when you have guards trailing behind you.”

After lunch, they head into Iscadin. The carriage stays on the main streets, the wheels clattering on the wide, cobbled roads. Just as Jack saw from the city hall, there are people everywhere. 

“He’s from Sinar,” Amber says, pointing at a man with feathers edging his cloak. “Strictly speaking, people aren’t supposed to leave Sinar – they view it as the greatest country in the world, so why would you want to leave?”

“What would happen if he was caught?”

“By us? He’d be questioned. As long as he co-operated he’d be fine. But if the Sinarans caught him, who knows? They’re so secretive. From the rumours, though, I don’t think it would be good.”

“So why does he do it?” 

“Money speaks loudly,” Amber says with a shrug. “Many people here will buy whatever he’s brought to trade – furs, minerals, artwork. And the cheapest of goods from Umbra are worth a fortune on the Sinaran black market.”

Jack doesn’t really understand. There’s nothing like that in Lunanoff – or at least not that he knows of, but as he has been realising of late, that means little. 

“Oh and they’re from Althell.” Amber points at a group of tall people with pale gold hair and long white cloaks covered in embroidery. “The first snows will have already come, and this is probably their last chance to trade before the seas start to freeze.”

“Wait- the sea freezes?”

“Near the poles. Althell is an island, a few hundred miles northwest of Umbra. It must be so cold there in winter, but they have all kinds of ways the cope with it. Like those cloaks: they look light, but those sigils are part of a spell. No matter how cold it is, the cloak will keep them warm.”

And so it goes: Amber points out people and tells him where they're from based on their clothes, but more often than not, his geographical knowledge fails him. He wishes he had a map so that he could work out where everyone is from.

They pass a group of Umbran sailors in smart black uniforms, more of them lowborn than highborn.

“Umbra has the most powerful navy in the world,” Amber says. “And the nicest uniforms. Let me tell you, the king looks especially - regal - in his general's uniform.”

Jack laughs. “Now why do I get the feeling that when you say _regal_ , you mean something else?”

“What can I say? The king and Onyx have a family resemblance. It makes sense that I appreciate him - purely aesthetically, of course. I enjoy looking at Pitch in his uniform; I enjoy getting Onyx out of hers.”

Jack laughs harder, and when he sees Dannel's expression he laughs so hard he starts to cough.

The carriage goes past the library, a large pale building lined with elegant columns. As they pass the city hall, Amber points out the statue of Pitch. Only when Jack squints at it does he see a resemblance. Pitch said that the statues look more handsome, but Jack far prefers the real thing. 

The sky is growing dark by the time they return to the royal residence. Pitch still hasn't returned, so Jack joins Amber in her rooms for dinner before retiring.

When he's alone, he goes to his travelling trunk and withdraws a book.

He asked Monty for this the day after he'd made his decision, and he thought that Monty would never stop blushing. _It's my duty as a courtesan_ , Jack had said, though that had only served to add a stammer to the blush.

It is a book for courtesans, just as the other books that Monty has provided, but this one is far more explicit. It is a manual for pleasure, fully illustrated. It covers everything Jack has thought of, and things he's never even imagined. He's fascinated by it.

He opens it to the section about the different ways to give pleasure with the mouth. It lists many techniques, but Jack decides to concentrate on the simplest. It is what he tried the night before, and he can only improve with practice. As he looks at the pictures he feels his body starting to respond and his mind wanders, imagining doing it to Pitch, remembering the night before. Nerves accosted him then, but tonight he can do better, he's sure of it.

A slamming door startles him out of his thoughts. He waits, but no-one comes into the room. Putting the book down on the table, he goes to investigate.

Opening the door, he hears a low thumping from one of the rooms below.

“What is that?” Jack asks, glancing at Dannel, standing guard on the corridor.

“The king. I don't think the discussions went well.”

“I'm going to go see him,” Jack says, and shrugs off Dannel's protests.

Following the sounds, Jack finds his way to a room on the ground floor and opens the door. It's a training room, and Pitch is throwing punches at a heavy leather bag hanging from the ceiling. He has cast off his robe and is topless, wearing only the tight black trews. Completely focused, he hasn't noticed Jack in the doorway, so Jack leans against the jamb and watches.

Pitch is fast and agile, strong and skilled. His punches are focused jabs, seeming to hit exactly where he means them to. He would be a fierce opponent, Jack thinks, and he is obviously angry, taking out his rage on the punching bag. Jack is startled when the room starts to get darker, and for the first time wonders if it's a good idea to spy on Pitch. He doesn't declare himself immediately, instead watching as Pitch's frown deepens and the room lightens again as he reclaims control over the shadows. He focuses on the bag, hitting again and again, and his skin is covered with a sheen of sweat. Jack swallows. Already half-hard from looking at the manual, seeing Pitch train is most appealing. 

Before Jack can call out, Pitch notices him and grabs the swinging bag, holding it still and breathing heavily. Pitch just looks at him and Jack steps into the room, grabbing a towel from a table.

“I'm guessing things didn't go so well,” Jack says, starting to wipe Pitch down, though he can't help but let his fingers trail over the muscles of Pitch's arms and stomach.

“They did not,” Pitch says, moving to pick up his robe where it lies in a heap at the side of the room. “I thought I should work off a little of my anger before coming to see you.”

“Do you want to talk about it? I probably won't know anything you're talking about but I'm happy to listen.”

Pitch kisses Jack softly. “Thank you but no. It'll only anger me again. I'm going to bathe.”

“Can I come with you?”

Pausing, Pitch smiles. “Most certainly.”

The bath is a smaller version of the one in Pitch's rooms at the palace, though still easily large enough for the two of them. Tiny flowers float on the surface – lavender, Jack thinks. There are no servants, as is PItch's preference, so they wash each other; and if Jack's hands linger a little too long on Pitch's cock there are no complaints.

Since Pitch doesn't want to talk about his day, Jack talks about his. As Pitch listens, he seems to relax. The tension in his shoulders eases and he smiles when Jack mentions lunch by the river.

“My father used to take me sailing on the river when I was a boy. I always tried to help. I was never terribly good at it but it made me feel very grown up.”

“I'd love to go sailing,” Jack says with a sigh, and Pitch kisses his temple.

“Then we will.”

When they are both dry and wrapped in fresh bed robes, they return to the living room. Only when Pitch pauses, looking down at the table, does Jack realise that he left the book out. He covers his embarrassment with a grin. “I thought since I wasn't too good last night, I better study.”

“Not too good?” Pitch shakes his head and walks over to Jack, taking both hands in his own. “Jack, let me assure you, it _was_ good, very good. Though it's very nice to see that you want to please me so much that you're willing to study for me.”

“Some things are worth studying for,” Jack says with a shrug as nonchalant as he can make it, and pulls Pitch away from the book. “Maybe I can practice?”

“I would be happy to help with your studies, Jack,” Pitch says with a smirk and kisses Jack, far too soft and sweet for the way he also slides a hand under Jack's robe and brushes long fingers over his cock. “Perhaps I could also advise you?”

The thought of Pitch instructing him makes Jack’s mouth dry and he nods wordlessly.

Smirking, Pitch shrugs off his robe and sits in the nearest chair. He beckons Jack over, grabs the collar of his robe and pulls him in for a kiss.

“On your knees.”

Part of Jack wants to say _I know that much_ but most of him just want to do anything Pitch asks of him. He sinks down to his knees between Pitch's legs. He watches as Pitch strokes himself into hardness. His cock is so much bigger than Jack’s own. Thicker too, with a slight curve upwards. Watching takes Jack the rest of the way to hard, but he doesn't touch himself. He wants to take care of Pitch first. Touching himself will only distract himself from that.

Fully hard now, Pitch wraps a hand around the base of his cock, pulling the foreskin back, and gestures at it. “Start by licking.”

Leaning forward to do as he's told, Jack's heart hammers in his chest. He slides his tongue across the head of Pitch's cock, the scent of the lavender from their bath filling his nose.

“That's good, Jack,” Pitch says as Jack continues to lick, confidence growing with every second. Being told what to do helps - he doesn't need to worry about doing the wrong thing. “And the shaft. Top to bottom. Get me nice and wet.” Pitch sighs and Jack's cock aches. He ignores it. “Now lick your lips - that's right - and take the head in your mouth. Lick it, slide your lips over it – that’s it. That lip ring is so cold – gods it feels good.” He's starting to breathe heavily now, and he gives a choked moan when Jack looks up at him with a mouthful of cock. Thinking back to what Pitch has done in the past, he slides his tongue over the slit. That makes Pitch curse, in a good way, and he lets his head fall back, mouth open as he breathes heavily. His reactions are very encouraging, and Jack lifts a hand to hold Pitch's cock, on top of where Pitch is holding it, and strokes as he works.

“Now try - try and take a little more into your mouth,” Pitch says in a shaking voice. “As much as you can.”

Licking his lips, Jack does, going slowly and breathing through his nose. When it hits the back of his throat he winces and pulls back, gasping.

“A little too much?” Pitch asks, stroking Jack's hair.

“Uh huh,” Jack says, wiping at his watering eyes.

“If you want to stop-”

“No! Not at all! I'm so _hard_ , just from doing this to you. I definitely don't want to stop.”

Leaning in again he goes more slowly this time, taking another inch in his mouth before pulling away, then taking another inch. This time he stops before it hits the back of his throat, bobbing his head like Pitch does when he uses his mouth on Jack. Pitch becomes more and more vocal, making Jack's own cock throb. His hand clenches in Jack's hair, not directing, just holding, like he needs the extra contact.

And then Pitch comes with a cry, spilling onto Jack's tongue. He's still not sure he likes the taste but it's proof of his success and he laps at it hungrily, swallowing down every drop.

As Pitch catches his breath, the hand in Jack's hair unclenches and starts to stroke instead. Jack smiles, feeling accomplished.

“Come here,” Pitch murmurs, shifting in the chair and beckoning Jack to him. Jack stands and lets Pitch pull him into his lap. It means that they are close, very close, and Jack smiles. He's still hard and part of him is desperate for release, but another part of him is happy to stay like this, safe and wanted in Pitch's arms.

He listens to Pitch's breathing slow, matching his own, in and out.

“That was wonderful, Jack.”

“Better than last night?”

Pitch nods. “Last night was good but this was incredible.”

“Just think what I could do with a little more practice,” Jack says, grinning. “I could try on the way back, in the carriage - or in other places in the palace. I think I'd really like to do it while you're sat on your throne. On my knees, looking up at you. With you wearing your crown.”

Pitch stares at him and a grin grows very slow, very wicked. He curls a finger around the ring of Jack’s collar and pulls him forward for a kiss. “I think I would like that very much.”

Swallowing thickly, Jack is very aware of how hard he is, of how much he wants to come.

“I have something I want to give you,” Pitch says suddenly, and Jack blinks.

“A gift?”

Pitch nods, and gently pushes Jack to his feet. Taking Jack's hand, he leads him into the bedroom. 

He takes something from his trunk – a wooden box and a vial of oil. Putting the box on the bed and the oil on the nightstand, Pitch sits on the bed and gestures at the box. Jack looks at it, and then back to Pitch; his naked body is far more interesting.

“Maybe we could have a little fun, first,” Jack suggests, pushing the box out of the way and leaning over to kiss Pitch. The distraction succeeds for a moment; Pitch slides Jack's bed robe down to spread kisses and gentle bites down his neck and over his shoulders. But after only a few moments, Pitch sits back and grins at Jack.

“You really should look at your gift,” Pitch says. “I promise that it will be fun.”

Jack blinks, annoyance pulsing through him, but there's curiosity there as well. Even when sated, Pitch has never been ignorant of Jack's needs. What could be in this box that is so important? He might as well look. The sooner he does, the sooner they can return to more interesting things. He pulls the box onto his knees. It’s made from a dark wood, completely plain save for the silver hinges and lock. It's weightier than it looks. Jack glances up at Pitch who merely smiles at him.

“Open it,” he says, and Jack does. The tiny key turns with a satisfying click. Inside, nestled in navy satin, are two metal objects that Jack doesn't recognise. One is long and slender; the other shorter and bulbous, tapering off and ending in a wide ring. He picks it up, finds that it's heavy and smooth, but there's nothing to indicate its function.

“I give up. What are they?”

Pitch's grin is _wicked_ in a way that makes Jack's dick throb. “They're toys, made especially for you. Since you've enjoyed having my fingers inside you but aren't yet ready for my cock, I thought perhaps you might enjoy these toys. They’ll help you get used to having something inside you.”

Jack's eyes widen and his cheeks burn at the same time as a grin curves his lips. He looks back down at the thing in his hand. “This - they're to go inside me?” The idea is both thrilling and a little scary - they're both bigger than the two fingers Pitch has had inside him so far; the longer one is about the same size as Jack's own cock.

“Only if you want to,” Pitch says. “If you don't-”

“I'd like to try. I just- I've never-” He gives up and looks back down at the box, picking up the other toy. Now that he knows what it is, it seems obvious. It's smooth and featureless, but the general shape can only be described as phallic.

“So you like it?”

“Let’s try it and I’ll let you know,” Jack says with a flash of a smile. Tugging open his belt, he shrugs the robe off his shoulders and throws it to the floor. Pitch gives a sharp intake of breath, desire blazing in his eyes. He reaches to stroke Jack's cock, very slowly, very gently, and Jack sighs, smiling. He puts the toy back in the box and lets himself fall back onto the bed, putting his hands behind his head and watching Pitch's hand on him, moving slowly at first, firm strokes up and down the shaft. He strokes his thumb over the head and Jack groans at the sudden spike in intensity. Little by little Pitch increases pressure and speed, building the pleasure slowly.

“Let's get into a better position,” Pitch says, and Jack lets Pitch move him so that his head is resting on the pillows. After grabbing the bottle of oil, Pitch hooks one of Jack's legs over his shoulder. When he pulls the box over to him, panic spikes in Jack - _what if I don't like it, what if it hurts, Pitch will be angry with me-_

“Do you want me to bind you?” Pitch asks, and Jack nods gratefully. “Then let's try something a little different.” He reaches up and folds Jack's arms over his chest rather than connecting the cuffs like he usually does. “Remember what I said about the shadows having all kinds of uses? I can use them like rope, too. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” Jack whispers. “Please.”

Soundless, the shadow-ropes slide around him, featherlight, tickling touches over his skin. They wrap around his wrists and forearms, under and over. Rope across his chest and around his biceps complete the binding. He can hardly feel the shadows against his skin; they’re as ephemeral as his lightest robe, yet when he tries to move they are as secure as any rope would be. He lets out a shaky breath and the last of his nerves slip away, leaving him feeling warm and relaxed. Pitch will look after him.

“Good?” Pitch asks, reaching out to stroke Jack's arms, skipping over the shadow-ropes.

“Good,” Jack breathes, and smiles up at him, sinking down deeper into the warmth. “Good.”

“I'm going to start with my fingers,” Pitch tells him. “Open you up.”

Jack nods, closing his eyes so that he can concentrate on the feeling of Pitch's hands on him. He gasps as he feels an oil-slick finger against his hole, and then moans low and long as it presses inside. There's a little pain but it quickly dissolves as his body adapts. Pitch slowly moves in and out, his other hand stroking Jack's cock. Coming from so many different points - the finger inside him, the hand on his cock, the ropes holding him tight – the pleasure builds quickly. Jack lets out a shaking breath, wondering if he will even be able to hold on for the toy.

“Another,” he whispers, and hears Pitch give a silky chuckle.

“Oh Jack,” he says. “You love this, don't you? When we're back in the palace perhaps we'll try real rope. You look so beautiful.”

Jack smiles without opening his eyes, and arches his back as he feels another finger press into him. The stretch burns a little longer this time but the payoff is better. He gasps with each thrust of Pitch's fingers into him, slowly getting harder and faster until Jack doesn't think he can take much more - which is when Pitch pulls away.

“Come back,” Jack whines, but when he opens his eyes he sees that Pitch has picked up the smaller toy. He stares for a moment as Pitch drips the oil onto the shiny surface, fear and excitement coiling in his belly.

Pitch looks down at him for a long moment, searching, and then smiles. “You want this, don't you?” Jack nods, eager. “It will probably hurt a little at first, but try to relax. I want you to feel good. If you don’t like it, tell me. Alright?”

“Alright.” He can feel his heartbeat in his throat as he nods.

Shifting Jack's leg on his shoulder, Pitch presses the other slightly wider and lowers his hand. Jack closes his eyes again and gasps, startled at how cold the toy is. And then it is pressing into him, solid, _stretching_ , quickly wider than Pitch's fingers. It does hurt, and Jack bites his lip, it _hurts_ , more as it presses deeper and gets wider, but the pleasure increases too, until Jack feels dizziness from switching between the two, trying to decide if it hurts or feels good or if it's both.

He makes a thin mewling noise, feeling overwhelmed by all the sensation - and then the pain eases. He feels a coolness against his buttock and realises that it's inside him, all the way, and the flat ring is what he can feel against his skin. Breathing ragged, he feels full, the weight of the toy heavy inside him.

“How does it feel?” Pitch asks, and all Jack can do is gasp and nod. He doesn't have words for how it feels, especially not when Pitch starts to stroke him again, slow strokes that make Jack shiver, make his muscles clench and become more aware of the toy inside him. He whimpers, and the more Pitch strokes his cock, the more aware he is of how full he is, that he has something inside him, that he'll have Pitch's cock inside him soon-

That thought is like striking a match and Jack comes, with a gasp that becomes a cry when coming makes his muscles clench hard around the toy, cold and heavy and smooth and strange inside him. Pitch strokes him through it and Jack gasps and whimpers and shakes, feeling like his brain is full of stardust, everything else blown away by the force of his climax.

“It's alright,” Pitch murmurs, kissing Jack gently and sliding a hand around his waist. “It's alright Jack, I'm here.”

“Unbind me,” Jack whispers, and in an instant the shadows are gone. He pulls Pitch close to him, digging his nails into his back, needing to be held, needing to hold and make sure Pitch is here, keep him here. All the while Pitch murmurs comforting things that make Jack smile, _wonderful, Jack, you were so good_ , and Jack slowly spirals down from the high point to a place of deep relaxation.

As the overwhelming feelings fade away, the toy inside him is a pleasant weight. Jack wonders about wearing it like this, perhaps letting Pitch put it inside him one morning and waiting patiently for him to return from his meetings. The thought makes him giggle but he stifles it, pressing his face against Pitch's neck. 

“I'm going to clean you up,” Pitch tells him, planting a kiss on his forehead and Jack nods, missing him the instant he's gone. But he's back in only a moment with a warm towel, cleaning up the mess on Jack's stomach and in the dark thatch of hair around his cock, warning him before he takes the toy out. Jack winces at the spike of pain, but it only lasts a moment and then he sighs, missing the feeling of fullness. Pitch moves again to clear everything off the bed and then he lies by Jack's side, tugging the sheets over them.

Jack curls up against him, smiling at him. “I liked that,” he whispers, and Pitch chuckles.

“I could tell.” He kisses Jack softly. “I love making you feel good,” he says, stroking Jack's cheek. “I love watching you shiver, and the way your whole body tenses up before you come. I love tying you up and giving you everything you ask for.”

“I love that you give me what I ask for.” It's supposed to be light, joking, but a twist of emotion is threaded through it. He's never had anyone care for him like this, lavishing him with attention, affection, pleasure. It makes him so happy but it also scares him. Now that he has it, he's afraid of losing it; the more affection he gets, the stronger the fear gets.

“I will always will,” Pitch says, holding Jack closer. “You're my courtesan. It's my job to make you happy.”

“I thought it was _my_ job to make _you_ happy?”

“They're both true,” Pitch says, and kisses Jack.

Feeling safe and content, Jack settles in Pitch's arms and closes his eyes.

===

“Your father never wanted you, you know.”

Jack blinks. Ben's voice. He feels woozy and slow, and he turns carefully, unsteady on his feet.

Ben is a few feet away, beaming at him. They two of them are standing in a small circle of golden light. Beyond is nothing but darkness.

“I know,” Jack says, the words like cotton in his mouth.

“Do you?” Ben chuckles. “I suppose he did always make it obvious. Not a subtle man, your father. It made it easy for me to suggest this to him, though.” Ben reaches over to tap Jack's collar, and Jack jerks back, the thought of being touched by the man who betrayed him making him feel ill.

His movement takes him to the edge of the light, and a high chittering, more felt than heard, makes him jerk forward again.

“Oh yes. I'd be careful if I were you. I'm still not quite sure how all this works, and I don't know what those things are, but I'd avoid them if I were you.”

There's nothing to be seen in the darkness, but fear creeps over Jack's skin like a physical thing, making him itch.

“In any case, you suit being a slave. Not really a surprise - you were never much good for anything else.”

Even dazed and afraid, Jack glares at Ben. “You know nothing about it. That's not what a courtesan is. And you know nothing about me, either.”

“I know that you're as stupid as the rest of your family. And I know that you're exactly where I want you.” He smiles, looking pleased with himself. “I'm so glad this worked! it's always good when things go to plan. Oh, and before I forget: Marek told me how worried you were about your little friend. Here's an update: he's in jail again, and nothing Marek does is going to get him out this time. He's not the only one, either. They're running out of space to put them all - it's chaos! It's a wonderful thing to see.”

“What- what are you talking about?” The chittering from the darkness gets louder and Jack looks around wildly, terror spiking at the sound. 

“It doesn't really matter,” Ben says. “After all, this is just a dream. And you're about to wake up.”

===

Jack jerks awake, heart racing and fear spreading through him like a fever. Within seconds the details of the dream - something to do with Ben - melt away but the fear remains, choking him. He sits up, breathing hard, pulling his knees into his chest and resting his forehead on them, willing himself to calm down.

“Jack?” In the little moonlight that sneaks past the thick curtains, Jack sees Pitch sit up. The warm, comforting weight of Pitch's hand on his back forces some of the fear to retreat, and Jack sighs, curling into Pitch's arms.

“Just a bad dream,” Jack says, his voice muffled against Pitch's skin.

“We didn't bring any dreamsand,” Pitch says, and curses. “I'm sorry, Jack. I was going to bring the vial I keep on my nightstand-”

“No, I should have thought-”

“Jack,” Pitch interrupts, hand tightening slightly on the back of Jack's neck. “You are my courtesan. Just as it's my job to make you happy, it's my job to protect you as well. Whether that's from someone wanting to hurt you, or from bad dreams. If I don't do that, I'm failing you.”

Jack wants to argue - he's not helpless, he's perfectly capable of picking up a vial. As shaken as he is, it's just one bad dream. But it's not worth arguing over, and in truth all he wants is for Pitch to hold him until the last of the fears leave him. They can argue about overprotectiveness some other time, when Jack isn't aching for comfort.

“I can go through the shadows and get some if you like,” Pitch says, but Jack shakes his head. It's more important that he's not alone.

“No. Just- just hold me until I fall asleep.”

It takes a long time, but slowly Jack relaxes in Pitch's arms, and drifts into a dreamless sleep.

===

After a day of sightseeing in the city with Pitch and the journey back, it's almost a disappointment to step back into his own rooms, especially when Pitch is leaving straightaway.

“Do you really have to go to another meeting?” Jack asks, arms tightening around Pitch. “We've only just got back.”

“I know, but I'm meeting with the person that I want to be your bodyguard.”

Jack looks up, wide-eyed. “You've decided? Who is it? Do I know them?”

“Patience, Jack,” Pitch says. “I'll be back in a few hours. You can wait until then, I'm sure.”

When he's gone, Jack paces, wondering who it is. Not that he's likely to know them, even if they work in the palace. Maybe it's Amber. That would be fun. Or Monty, though Jack wonders if he'd be up for climbing trees. He could be convinced, though, Jack thinks and grins.

A bodyguard so that he isn't cooped up in his rooms, and he'll be starting magic lessons with Jethryn next week. Things are looking up.

He ends up napping and is woken by a knock at the door. He sits up, yawning, as Pitch comes in. A smile skips over Pitch's lips as he comes over to sit next to Jack, adjusting the clips that Jack's impromptu nap knocked askew.

“Do I really need to look pretty for this bodyguard?” Jack mutters, but Pitch breathes a laugh and stands, pulling Jack to his feet.

“Of course not, but an out of place hair clip isn't going to make you not look pretty. I don't think anything could do that.”

“I'm going to start to think you only want me for me looks.”

“There are _many_ reasons I want you, Jack.” The heat in Pitch's voice makes Jack grin, and cocks an eyebrow.

“Oh, I'm sure - my ass, my mouth, my legs-”

“Your wit, your intelligence, your curiosity,” Pitch corrects, and all the mockery leaks from Jack, leaving only sweetness and gratitude in its place “Of course I find you physically attractive, but it's who you are that makes me ache for you.”

A blush burns into Jack's cheeks and he offers Pitch a weak smile. “You keep saying stuff like that and I'm going to swoon. Not the best first impression for the bodyguard.”

Not bothering to hide his amusement, Pitch nods. “Very well. But I'll remember that the way to win your affection is with the truth.”

“You already have my affection,” Jack says softly, not really meaning to; but when Pitch's eyes widen and his expression softens, he's glad he did. He pulls Jack into his arms and kisses him, softly, sweetly, like he's precious, like he's _important_ , and Jack's starting to think that maybe he is.

They're interrupted by a knock at the door, and both of them seem to remember why they're here. They share a smile and then Pitch touches Jack's cheek, a last tender gesture before going to answer. There's a promise in it of more later.

When Pitch answers the door, a highborn man steps into the room. He’s young, only a handful of years older than Jack. Tall, but much broader than any other highborn Umbran that Jack's seen. The power in his muscular shoulders and arms is obvious at a glance, a contrast to Pitch's slender strength.

“This is Kal,” Pitch says, leading him over to Jack.

“I'm pleased to properly meet you at last,” Kal says with a warm smile, and Jack is stuck by a sense of familiarity, though he can't say where he's seen him. And then it clicks.

“You're my guard!”

“Was,” Kal corrects with a grin. “I wondered how long it would take you to work that one out. I look a little different without the helmet.”

“Kal is Alden’s son,” Pitch says. “I’ve known him for many years, and he’s both trustworthy and capable.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Kal says, bowing his head, and then turns to Jack. “After a month of not even being able to say good morning, I’m looking forward to finally getting to know you.”

Jack blinks, startled by the difference from the silent guard and easy-going man sat before him. He’s a surprising choice. Jack had been sure his bodyguard would be someone like Dannel, serious, no-nonsense. Boring. 

“Kal will be escorting you when Onyx and I are unavailable,” Pitch says. “He's responsible for your wellbeing, and will protect you to the death if necessary.”

Jack laughs and steps closer to Pitch so that he can link their fingers. “Come on, Pitch. How much danger are we really going to find in the palace gardens?”

“None, I hope. But if you do need protecting, Kal will be there.”

“I've already been protecting you,” Kal says, and then pauses. “Although there's not been anything to protect you from so far, except maybe boredom - but I think that's my main job now - making sure you don't get bored. But I already have a plan. Come on, I'll show you.” He heads over to the balcony and waves for Jack to follow him.

Stepping outside, Jack sees that the day has not cleared. Everything is grey, and a thick fog has settled over the world. Kal points at the trees, barely visible.

“This probably isn't the best time to show you this, but there are these incredible caves over there-”

“I know, I've seen them.”

Kal's mouth opens and then his shoulders round in defeat. “What!? That was going to be my big opening number, you know? Something to really impress you, convince you that I'm the best man for the job.”

Jack pauses - he's not sure he gets any say in the matter. “Sorry.”

“No, it's okay. it's just, being a guard is great, better than the military anyway. But it's still so - stifling, you know? Showing you around the gardens sounds like a much better job - far more _me_. So it's important that I impress you.”

“I'm sure there are plenty of other interesting things you can show me. Onyx showed me the caves a few weeks ago.”

Instantly a blush leaps to Kal's cheeks. “Oh. Well. If it was Onyx. That's okay then. That's fine.”

Jack looks up at him in amusement. “Do you have a little crush, there?”

“No! Of course not!” Kal's blush deepens. “She's just- She's-” He shakes his head mutely, and Jack’s grin widens. “Anyway,” Kal says, ignoring Jack's grin. “There are definitely other things to see. What kind of things do you like?”

“I want to see everything. This place is incredible. Me and Onyx climbed a tree. That was pretty fun.”

Kal's eyes light up. “So you like a little fun? I can do fun. Let's see: there are waterfalls down near the cliffs. It's a really nice hike this time of year; but in winter they freeze, and ice climbing is definitely fun-” He pauses and grins at Jack, before adding in a whisper, “If we do that, it's our secret, right? The king doesn't need to know.”

“Right,” Jack whispers, feeling the long-dormant thrill of not following the rules kindling in him.

“There's a rope walk through the trees,” Kal says, pointing to things hidden by the fog. He lists things that are listed on Jack's map, and things that aren't, and with each suggestion a bar of Jack's cage seems to dissolve and the cool wind on his skin feels like freedom.

The door behind them opens, and Pitch looks at Kal coolly. “Your father will want to go over the details of your new role,” he tells Kal, who bows and throws Jack a grin before he leaves.

Jack smiles at Pitch, and goes over to kiss him. “Thank you. This is going to make me feel so much better.”

“I hope so,” Pitch says. “I thought that Kal would be a good fit for you - he's closer to your age, friendly. Because he grew up here, he knows the place as well as anyone, except perhaps myself and Onyx.” He pauses. “Onyx told me about the tree climbing. Kal doesn't have any way of protecting you as Onyx does, so there will be no more of that.”

“I don't fall-”

“No, Jack.

The flat refusal, not a hint of a chance for compromise, rankles Jack and he frowns.

“Then this is still a cage, isn't it? You said-”

“I said that you could have someone who would accompany you in the gardens, not that you could risk breaking your neck with foolishness.” Pitch's words are sharp but the flash of fear in his eyes makes Jack swallow down his retort. Pitch isn't doing this to cage him; he's doing this to protect him. After what happened to Karine and Seraphina while they were doing something that was supposed to be safe, no wonder he's a little protective.

 _Give it time_ , Jack tells himself. If he proves to Pitch that he's safe, and that Kal is looking after him, he might change his mind.

“It's just-” He tries to think of how to make Pitch understand. “At home, one of my favourite things was running along the rooftops with my friend. And- I miss that. That's what I think of when I think of freedom.”

“The roofs are taller here, Jack,” Pitch says. “I just want you to be safe. If anything happened to you-” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. 

“Nothing's going to happen to me,” Jack says, and takes Pitch's hands in his. “I won't do anything dangerous.”

Relief is stark on Pitch's face, and he bows his head so that their foreheads touch. “I know you think I'm being overprotective,” he says. “But I can't lose you, Jack. I can't.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Jack tells him. “You're stuck with me now.”

“Good,” Pitch murmurs, his arms going around Jack tightly. 

Eventually Pitch’s embrace eases. He breathes in deeply, collecting himself, and then leads Jack into the room, where they settle onto the chaise longue. Pitch’s arm goes around his shoulders as though he can’t bear to not be touching Jack. A smile tugs at the corner of Jack’s lips; for all that it’s suffocating, it’s sweet as well. 

“I have something for you,” Pitch says, reaching into a pocket. 

“I doubt it can be as good as the last gift,” Jack says, and Pitch smiles. 

“Perhaps not.” He presses something into Jack's hand. It's a tiny vial of dreamsand, a third the size of Jack's little finger. A silver ring is attached to the lid. “It's to go on your necklace, with the moon pendant, so that you always have some with you.”

Jack closes his fingers around the vial and he smiles. “Thank you,” he says, and kisses Pitch, the last of his annoyance slipping away. Pitch’s generosity and affection more than make up for his overprotectiveness.

In time, Jack is sure that Pitch will ease his grip on him.


	11. Chapter 11

Magic training is not quite as exciting as Jack had hoped.

For two weeks now all Jethryn has taught him is how to breathe, which is something Jack was quite the expert at before.

Once more, Jack is sitting cross-legged in a courtyard, the stone hard under his buttocks and ankles, listening jealously to Jethryn’s even breathing. Sometimes he manages to get a relaxed state, concentrating on his own breathing, but then a thought will tug at him like a fish hook, cutting his concentration to distracted ribbons.

 _It comes with practice_ , Jethryn has said, but Jack doesn’t want to practice. He itches to reach deep within and touch his magic, to let it spill through his fingers. He _doesn't_ want to sit here and do nothing but concentrate on his breathing. 

He sighs and Jethryn opens his eyes to look at him calmly.

“You started off this morning very well. For almost twenty minutes you managed to keep up the meditation.”

“I’m not doing so well now.”

“I know it’s difficult, Jack, but it gets easier-”

“With practice. I know. You’ve said.”

Jethryn continues to look at him. He seems to have an infinite well of calm. That almost makes Jack want to do what he says – if he continues to meditate like this, will he find that sort of calm? Will it soothe his raging thoughts and the anger and grief that constantly try to burst forth from the walls he's put up around them? But it’s _hard_.

“You’ve been practicing. You’ve been improving. And you’re going to keep improving as long as you keep practising. With magic like yours, you need to be able to listen, and you’re not going to be able to do that if all you can hear is yourself.”

Jack’s hands clench into fists where they rest on his knees. “I can hear the wind – almost.”

“If you still your thoughts you'll be able to sense other things. The wind is active. You hear it because it's like an overexcited child wanting to play, demanding your attention. But you should be able to sense the water in the air. The heaviness of the clouds before rain. You're an ice mage; all of these things tie into that, and you need to know them to control them.”

“It would be a lot easier if my magic wasn’t bound.”

“The binding does effect that,” Jethryn concedes. “But it’s not the only thing. Your thoughts and emotions are too raw – they’re deafening. I can practically hear them.”

Jack’s eyes narrow. “You can read my thoughts?”

Jethryn smiles now, a cheeky little thing that startles Jack. He’s used to him being so calm and still that the emotion seems out of place. “No, which it probably for the best. The king has been much more relaxed lately, and I imagine your thoughts are just _full_ of the reason why.”

His tone makes it quite clear that he’s talking about what Pitch and Jack are getting up to in the bedroom, and Jack feels heat spill into his cheeks. Are people around the palace talking about this? He doesn’t mind Amber joking about it, people he knows, but thinking that people he’s never even met are talking about them makes him feel a little uncomfortable.

“I can see your aura,” Jethryn continues. ”It’s how I knew how strong your magic was, and it’s also how I know how turbulent your thoughts are. This will help, Jack. I know it seems difficult at the minute-”

“It doesn’t feel difficult, it feels impossible.” Jack groans and falls backwards onto the stone and stares up at the clouds.

“How about this: you keep trying for another week, and if you improve, I’ll loosen the binding a little.”

Jack pushes himself up onto his elbows to look at Jethryn. “One week?”

“If you improve.”

“You trying to bribe me?”

Jethryn laughs. “If that’s what it takes.”

Jack pushes himself back up and crosses his legs. “Alright. Let’s try this again.”

The bribe works. His determination means that he _listens_ to Jethryn when he tells him to let the thoughts go instead of letting them cling to him; that he doesn't berate himself for having these thoughts.

He breathes in, concentrating on where his breath begins; and out, feeling where the breath ends. He sinks deeper into the meditation, and when Jethryn calls an end to their lesson, Jack is startled at how quickly the time has passed.

“So when you loosen the binding,” Jack says, “Will I be able to make it snow?”

“I don't think so.”

“I want to see snow,” Jack says, feeling a little dejected.

“You will - it should only be a few weeks until the first snows. And it would be better to wait until you see it happen naturally before trying anything of your own.”

“And where's the fun in that?” Jack asks, a little grumpy.

“Magic's not supposed to be _fun_ ,” Jethryn starts, and then pauses, offering Jack a smile. “But it is. Difficult, but fun. More than worth all of these dull lessons.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, feeling the wind on his skin. “I guess it will be.”

===

Jack’s feeling relaxed by the time Kal comes to collect him.

“Do you mind if we go to the library?” Jack asks, and Kal makes a face.

“The library? Seriously?”

“I know, I know. But I want to speak to my friend, the assistant librarian. You know him?”

“The little blond guy?”

“That’s the one.”

“If you want,” Kal says, shrugging. He’s even less interested in books than Jack is. Whereas Jack’s problem with books is that they’ve been responsible for him having to learn incredibly dull – and often incorrect, he’s now discovering – lessons, Kal has trouble with reading. He says that it’s almost like the letters shift on the page, so that what he sees is different to what Jack sees. It doesn’t seem to bother him too much - he can read, given time, but he prefers listening. Talking, too. Over the past few weeks, he's told Jack some of his favourite stories, acting out each of the characters, with different voices and body language. He's let Jack join in with characters of his own, and they've been reweaving some old tales and making them uniquely theirs.

As they make their way to the library, the corridors grow narrower. Jack doesn't even need to straighten his arms to touch the walls. Jack's never seen anything like it in the palace here; perhaps the rooms to the side have expanded, squeezing the corridor. It's still tall though, and the ceiling is lost in shadows. They turn, and the next corridor has one long line of gold running along the line at waist height, unmarked and shining, like a ray of sunlight leading to the library. At the end are tall doors and through them-

Books. Books and books and books, stretching in every direction until the dim light swallows them up. Where there are gaps between the tall shelves shafts of sunlight break up the gloom, filled with playful dust motes. The silence is heavy, and it stops Jack from calling out. Instead he walks along one of the walls of books, trailing his fingers along them and enjoying the different textures under his fingers.

“Can I help you?” The voice is thin as old paper, and nothing about it suggests a willingness to help. Jack turns and sees a highborn Umbran in a heavy-looking black robe, the only decoration a silver buckle on his belt. His forehead is creased from years of too much frowning, and he's frowning now.

“I- I'm Jack-”

“I know who you are,” the man says, his upper lip twitching into a sneer. “But I don't know what you're doing here.”

“I'm looking for Monty.”

“He's in the magical archives. As head librarian, I would be remiss in my duties if I let someone like _you_ in there.”

Jack opens his mouth and then closes it again. After a moment he manages, “What?”

“A Selenan. The last time we let one of you near our magical collection was at the end of the Great War. I don't know if the books you stole are rotting away in Selena or are in Lunanoff, but I'm not about to give you a chance to try and take any more.”

“I'm _eighteen_ ,” Jack blurts out, startled by the librarian's attitude. “I had nothing to do with something someone stole hundreds of years ago.”

“No, but your ancestors did,” he snaps. “It was my predecessor's bad judgement that let them into the archives. I'm not about to make the same mistake.”

“My father always said that you were insufferable,” Kal says, moving slightly so that he's standing between Jack and the librarian. “I never realised how right he was.”

The man's eyes narrow. “Alden is a learned man but he's never been wise. If he was, he would have convinced the king not to accept a Selenan as a courtesan.”

“I don't know about that, but I wonder if he could convince the king to get rid of you? If you won't let us into the archives, why don't you go and get Jack's friend for us? It might make me forget to mention to my father how uncooperative you're being.”

“Your father-”

“I might even forget to tell the king how you insulted the courtesan if you do it quickly.”

The man purses his lips and turns on his heel, disappearing into the city of shelves.

Jack watches him go, shock vibrating through him. He feels a little foolish for being so affected – of course not everyone in Umbra can be like Onyx and Amber and Kal. But that was the first time that anyone has shown such unpleasantness towards him in Umbra, and it has shaken him. 

“His name's Roth, if you want to complain to Pitch.”

Jack glances up at Kal, who grins.

“I only said _I_ wouldn't tell the king. Never said anything about you.”

With a weak grin, Jack nods. He won't tell Pitch - it's not worth how much it would annoy him. Still, he appreciates being looked out for.

When Monty appears, he looks slightly frazzled. He smiles at Jack but then stops a few feet away, looking up at Kal with big eyes.

“This is Kal. He's my bodyguard,” Jack says, and Monty nods, visibly gulping.

“I'm not as scary as I look,” Kal says with a warm grin, and Monty nods again, still staring, like if he breaks eye contact Kal might attack him.

“I was wondering if you'd help me find some books,” Jack says. “About Fintan.”

“S-sure. This way.” Monty sets off, and having a purpose seems to make him forget all about how intimidating Kal looks. “We have a lot of books about Fintan - that's where the king is, right?”

“He's in Blenkeld, meeting with some Fintish ambassadors,” Kal says, and Monty's head snaps around, looks at his broad shoulders and quickly looks away again.

Blenkeld being a city in the southeast of Umbra, the nearest to Fintan. It also has a royal residence where Pitch and Jack could have spent the night together. But as Pitch could only take one person through the shadows with him, he took Alden as advisor. More’s the pity. They could have had a lot of fun. Over the past few nights, Pitch has been using the bigger toy on Jack, and it feels so good that even the memory of it makes Jack bite his lip.

Pitch said he would be late returning to the palace, so Jack will be sleeping in his own bed tonight. It would be too strange to be in Pitch's rooms without him, but in truth, it will be strange sleeping at all without Pitch by his side. It's only been three weeks, but already Jack knows he'll miss Pitch's warmth.

And other things.

They've come to a stop, and Monty is looking at him expectantly, and Jack realises that he's just been asked a question.

“Sorry,” Jack says. “What was that?”

“I said, what kind of book did you want? History, politics, geography...?”

“Um. All of the above? I just want to understand what's going on. Why Pitch would drop everything to go to this spur of the moment meeting?”

“Oh! Well. Fintan has a lot of minerals that we need. Umbra has its own mines but with a population as large as ours, we have to go with what is most efficient - the minerals from Fintan. Their minerals can provide ten time as much energy as ours!” Realising that his enthusiasm is not shared, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and starts to pile books in Jack's arms. “This is an overview, but this one will be good to read more on the minerals. And this one for culture. This one will be good for history. And this one-”

“I think that's enough for now,” Kal says, and takes the books from Jack. “We can come back.”

“Okay,” Monty says, and then his eyes widen. “Before you go; I thought of something I think you'll like.”

He hurries off through the bookcases, driven by his eagerness, and Jack has to follow closely else lose him in the maze of books. They head deeper into the library, and it's like a forest, with the bookcases blocking out the light. Everything is dim and dusty, and Jack sneezes.

“Here it is!” Monty gestures at a shelf with a flourish. “Books about Selenan religion and mythology. The moon god, but there's more - yetis and mermen and- Well, I thought you might be interested.”

Jack looks at the titles. Some he recognises from the library in Lunanoff; others are new. He opens one and flicks through it. He's startled to see what looks almost exactly like a painting of himself, gazing out of the book with an equanimity that Jack himself has never had. It's the moon god, pale and otherworldly. Younger and more innocent than the usual representations.

Jack touches the painting. For the first time he feels a connection to the moon god. Here he looks young enough to be as unsure and lost as Jack feels, but that expression says that he is facing his challenges with calmness. Truly something that Jack needs now, with his magic and just life in general.

“Can I borrow this one?”

“Of course! And I think you'll really like this one too.” He hands over a book about yetis, mythical creatures from the snowfields of north Selena. It looks interesting, and Jack smiles his thanks.

They leave the library and drop the books in Jack's room, before heading out for a walk to what Kal promises to be the best view in the palace.

Since Pitch is going to be away all day, Jack wears a simple outfit of brown trews and a cream shirt, but the thing that feels strangest are the shoes. Amber handed them over since the recent rains have made the ground muddy and slippery; but since he's not worn anything on his feet since arriving in Umbra, they feel almost alien. He doesn't like it, and as soon as the get to the top of the hill he kicks them off, enjoying the wet grass beneath his feet.

The view from here is nearly as good as climbing the tree, or it would be if the weather was better. He can make out Iscadin in the distance, blurred by mist. Jack closes his eyes and breathes in and out slowly, and as he calms his thoughts he can feel the water in the air around him, just as Jethryn said. The binding limits his awareness to just a few feet, and stops him from doing anything other than sense it. But he knows, he _knows_ , that he could freeze it, gather it up into- something.

Perhaps Jethryn's right. He should wait to see natural snow and ice before trying to do anything of his own.

Jack expels a hard breath and then lies back on the grass. It's damp beneath him, and it slowly starts to seep through his shirt. It's not entirely unpleasant; he likes the coolness of it.

“Everything okay?” Kal asks, glancing down at him, and Jack gives him a half-smile.

“I just realised Jethryn's right about something _I_ wanted to be right about.”

With a laugh, Kal flops down by his side. “That's the worst. When you realise someone knows more than you but _you_ wanted to be right.”

“Sounds like you're speaking from experience,” Jack says, looking over at him.

“Yeah. I was taught by the swordsmaster here in the palace. Pretty good training, right? It also made me arrogant. So much so that when I got into the military I thought I already knew it all.” He grins sheepishly. “The training master was more than happy to put me in my place. That went a long way to teaching me that I don't know everything, and to listen to people with more experience.”

“Very deep,” Jack says, laughing, but he appreciates Kal's words. He knows that he should listen to Jethryn - he knows that he's lucky to have him for a teacher. But he yearns to use his magic - having it almost within his grasp makes it more difficult to be patient.

“Not that everyone with more experience is someone that you should listen to. Like Roth: he's just a miserable fool whose only pleasure is upsetting other people. There's someone you _shouldn't_ listen to.”

Jack frowns. “Maybe he's right, though. The more I learn here, I'm seeing that a lot of what I've been taught is a lie. Things about Umbra - and Selena, too.”

“Even if he was right about some Selenans stealing a book hundreds of years ago, that doesn't mean anything about you, or even your ancestors. Do you really think that it would have been King Jokul himself that came in and stole those books? Trust me, Jack, he’s just a bully. If my pa says that he’s insufferable then he must be – Pa puts up with the _king_ and doesn’t complain.”

“Isn’t that treason?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow and grinning.

Kal only laughs. “And _you_ put up with the king, so Roth should be nothing to you.”

“I'm fairly sure Pitch is different with me,” Jack says, and glares when Kal makes a heart with his hands. He moves to hit him, but at the last moment remembers that he’s not supposed to touch anyone but Pitch. Blinking, he lowers his hand. That’s the first time he’s almost broken that rule. _It’s a stupid rule,_ Jack thinks, but he doesn’t want to get Kal into trouble.

It starts to rain, a light drizzle that instantly soaks through Jack's clothes. He finds it refreshing, but Kal grimaces.

“I hate rain,” he moans. “I miss summer already.”

“I like it,” Jack says, “We don't have any kind of weather on the moon so it's still fascinating to me.”

Kal laughs. “Give it time.”

Jack doubts he could ever tire of this - the rain, the winds, the tall, dramatic clouds that look so threatening from the surface of the planet, but looked insubstantial as spiderweb from the moon. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, and feels that connection with the weather deepen, helping to calm the unease he still feels about Roth.

“Come on,” Kal says, getting to his feet. “Lets go inside. We could get something to eat.”

Jack follows Kal down into the bowels of the palace, into a maze of corridors to the kitchen. It's warm and full of good smells, and Kal convinces the cook to let them take the food that was going to be delivered to Jack's rooms.

They take their dinner into one of the state rooms. It's a grand affair for Umbra, full of dark furniture, books and splashes of gold. There's even a globe made from dark metal, tiny specks of gold marking out towns and cities. They're not supposed to be in there, not really, but it has some of the most comfortable armchairs in the whole palace. And besides, Pitch is away, most of the councillors are busy trying to figure out a plan with their limited knowledge and are far too busy to find them, let alone scold them - or so Kal says with a grin.

After dinner, they talk and talk, like Jack's never been able to talk to anyone else other than Jamie. With his siblings there was always a distance, wedged between them by their father. Even with Pitch; Jack likes to talk to him but the difference in their age and status causes a slight hesitation. But with Kal, he can talk about anything - the best places to eat in Lunanoff, or where to people watch. In turn, Kal tells him about travelling the world as a soldier. Prompted by Jack's talk of Lunanovan food, he lingers on the different cuisines, and looks longingly at his empty plate.

Long after the day has grown dark, they make their way back up to Jack's rooms.

“Oh, hey,” Kal says when they exit the staircase onto the courtesan's corridor. “My replacement is here.”

Jack follows his gaze to see Dannel standing by his door. 

It's strange how Jack never really noticed his guards before after a few aborted attempts to talk to them in the beginning, but now that he sees Dannel standing there, still in that same Iscadin armour, he feels a flicker of disappointment. Maybe he'd been thinking that the new guard would be more like Kal. Not that Kal was ever like Kal when he was a guard.

Jack clenches his jaw. What different does it make that Dannel is his guard? If Pitch trusts him to do his job, that's enough for Jack. What else can he expect?

He _doesn't_ expect the cool look Dannel gives him, or the slight curl of his lip.

“Good evening, Dannel,” Kal says.

“Kal,” he replies, his voice not quite flat. There's a spike in it, anger or annoyance, Jack can't pin it down.

“Must be nice to be in the palace,” Kal says with a warm smile, but in return he gets only disdain.

“Oh, yes; babysitting the courtesan instead of being captain of the guard in the foremost royal residence. Very _nice_.”

Jack blinks. Even the other guard glances over. The emotion in Dannel's voice now is clear: bitter anger.

Kal puts his hands on his hips. “If you think that the king trusting you enough that he lets you guard his courtesan is some kind of insult, you're a fool. It's an honour.”

“And I suppose pretending to be his friend is even more of an honour?”

“I'm not pretending, but yes, being Jack's bodyguard is a great honour.”

“If you hate it so much, just ask Pitch to move you,” Jack suggests, and Dannel's eyes roll to look at him and then away again.

He doesn't bother to reply, clearly ignoring him, and that is a feeling Jack knows too well. Feeling like he's invisible. Being ignored at so many feasts and festivals on the moon. Despair wells up in him at the memories, frightening in its intensity. He thought that he had gotten used to it. That it had happened so many times he was immune to it now.

It's not even Dannel that is bothering Jack - when he is doing his job, in the palace uniform, he will be expected to ignore Jack. And Jack tells himself that he doesn't care what Dannel thinks in any case.

But images stream through his head: Tooth refusing to look at him. North's sympathetic glances, while still refusing to talk to him or speak up in his defence. And Bunny, normally so loud and opinionated, but when it came to their father's treatment of Jack, he offered only silence.

Everyone Jack trusted, everyone that Jack thought would protect him - all of them ignored him. They let him be sent down here to what everyone thought would be a hellish life. Just because they were wrong doesn't change the fact that no-one helped him. That no-one even tried, other than Jamie.

Jack pushes into his room, feeling dizzy as these emotions rage through him, threatening to overcome his defences. It came out of nowhere, the balance tipped by such a tiny gesture from someone he barely knows. It scares him that he can lose control like that and he breathes heavily, leaning against a wall for support.

“Jack?” Kal follows him into the room and looks over at him, worry creasing his forehead.

He forces a smile. “I'm okay. It's been a strange day. That's all.”

Kal looks at him a little longer and then nods. “I understand that you don't want to talk about it, but if you ever do I want to listen. I'm not particularly smart, and I don't have much life experience, as my pa is so fond of telling me, but I'm a good listener. And sometimes it's good to just listen, too; if you need someone to talk, I'm good at that. I was bed bound for almost a month after being injured on the eastern borders - when I was healing, I did nothing _but_ talk. I think even Ma was sick of the sound of my voice by the time I was better.”

“Does your mother live in the palace?” Jack asks, because Kal is right, talking about things does help, as long as they're not _his_ things.

“No, she lives in Rocklea. A town about an hour north of the palace. I'd love to take you some time.”

“That would be nice.” He thinks of spending time with Jamie's family, his mother and his little sister, and it makes his heart hurt again. The thought of having fun with Jamie - of how Jamie's family seemed to care more than his own - is like a shard of ice spearing his heart.

“I'll ask the king about it,” Kal says. “We could go before the first snows.”

“I'd like that.” It sounds like fun, but his mood spirals ever downward. He’s on the verge of tears and that horrifies him, but not as much as the thought of Kal seeing him so weak. “You know, I've been sleepy all day. I guess that's why I'm overreacting. I think I'm going to go to bed. You might as well go.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure. Thanks.”

“Jack- Is everything alright?” Kal’s eyes are full of worry, and Jack has to look away. Suddenly Dannel's words cleave into his mind - that Kal is pretending to be his friend because it's his job. Could it be true? Kal's only known Jack a few weeks. Because he reminds him of Jamie so much, it’s easy for Jack to convince himself that Kal cares, but does he, really?

“Fine,” Jack says, and forces a smile; that's one thing he's good at. He's had a lot of practice in Lunanoff. Possibly he’s slipping a little, because Kal doesn’t look convinced.

“Come on, Jack. Talk to me. That’s why I’m here.”

“And here I was thinking you were here to protect me from rampaging beasts and cannonballs, and whatever else might be lurking in the palace grounds.”

“That’s my _job_ , yes. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re obviously upset about something-”

“I’m fine. Really. I’m just tired. That's all.” He tries the smile again and though Kal still doesn’t look entirely convinced, he nods.

“The king should be back soon. Maybe you can talk to him about whatever’s wrong.”

Jack opens his mouth to say he’s fine again, but he can’t manage it, so he smiles again and Kal finally leaves.

Changing into his bedrobe, Jack goes out onto the balcony. He tries to shut off his brain and stop thinking, but Dannel's rudeness is like a catalyst that has broken down a dam inside him, and all of the thoughts that Jack has been pushing away flood over him.

Does Kal really care about him? So few people have in his life. Just Amber and Onyx caring for him is miracle enough. Even Pitch - Jack _thinks_ he does, but he's never said _I love you_ since that first time. Not even when Jack agreed to be his courtesan. His vision blurs as his eyes well up with tears, and he hugs his knees into his chest.

Why would Pitch put someone as awful as Dannel as Jack's bodyguard? Surely there must be someone in the palace that could have done the job just as well. And why isn't Pitch _here_? Just being held would make him feel so much better. Like he was cared for. Like he maybe belonged here, whatever people like Roth might think.

The wind picks up, ruffles his hair, pulls at his robe, but even that doesn't make him feel any better. It just reminds him that if he did what Jethryn told him, that maybe he would have a little control over his magic by now.

Biting his lip, he tries to tell himself that he's just being foolish - all of this from one guard's cruel dismissal? Foolish it may be, but he can't control the pain welling up in him, flooding through him, filling his body and making it hard to breathe.

The first sob comes without his permission, but then the walls crumble and he gives in to his tears. For a new life that has tarnish that he naïvely didn't expect; for an old life that, however dismal, he still misses parts of, and can never have again. For a mother he never knew and a father that never loved him. Hurt after hurt crashes over him until his whole body is aching with loss and pain.

And when the sobs ease, all that is left is hollowness. With prickling eyes he looks up at the moon. Clouds drift before it, like a charcoal smear over its silvery surface. Anger at his father and the ache of missing his siblings and Jamie rise in him, scars on his heart that he'll never be rid of.

He wishes Pitch were here to hold him. And that Pitch could _understand_ without Jack having to find a way to explain what it is that hurts so much. He can't even figure it out in his head; putting it into words is impossible.

With a sigh he goes to the bathroom to splash water on his cheeks, to wipe at his red eyes. Looking at his reflection, he touches his collar and sighs with a small smile. At least he has this physical representation of Pitch's feelings. Of his possessiveness, yes, but more lies behind it.

He goes to sit on the edge of his bed and opens his jar of dreamsand. It gives off a soft golden light, and the glow of it dulls the edge of his hollowness. He touches it, scoops a little between his fingers and lets it trickle back into the jar. Perhaps sleep will help. It will let him stop thinking and worrying about things he can't change for a while, and he _is_ tired. Perhaps all of this overreacting is because of that.

As he pulls the covers over himself, he wishes that was true.

===

Jack is woken by a hand on his cheek and he blinks up at Pitch, who smiles at him. Blinking and yawning, pushing up into a sitting position, Jack is still slightly fuzzy from sleep. He leans against Pitch, holding him, and sighs when Pitch's arms go around his waist. Though the dreamsand gave him good dreams, they felt fake, like a curtain hiding something ugly.

“Are you alright?” Pitch asks, kissing the top of Jack's head.

“I am now you're back.”

“I have to go for a meeting,” he says. “Just for a little while.”

“Another? You've been in meetings _all day_ -”

“I know. Believe me Jack, I'm aware of that. But it should only be for an hour or so. I need to discuss the request that the Fintish representatives had - it's important, and we need to make a decision on how to proceed.”

“I just want you with me,” Jack says, honest from having just woken up.

“I know. And I want to be with you. Are you alright? You seem upset.”

“I'm fine,” Jack says flatly, and rubs his eyes. He wishes Pitch wouldn't go. He wants someone to hold him, to make him feel wanted. He knows it's childish and he doesn't really care right now, not with these raw, frayed emotions nagging at him. “Can I at least go to your rooms? To wait for you?”

“Of course.”

Jack gets out of bed and Pitch smiles at the way his robe is half-open, and he pauses to run his hands over the skin that it reveals, over his chest and stomach. Jack's lips quirk into a smile of his own, and his feeling of being ignored fades.

Wrapping an arm around Jack's waist, Pitch pulls him close and kisses him with slow heat and growing urgency that makes Jack shiver. He doesn't stop feeling hollow, though, and he doesn't much care for the juxtaposition. When Pitch moves away, he's glad - he needs to find a way to get rid of this emptiness.

Pitch sighs, and kisses the tip of Jack's nose. “I do wish I could stay, Jack. But it won't be long. I promise.”

Taking his hand, Pitch leads Jack to his own rooms and kisses him once more before leaving.

Lying on the bed, feeling cold and empty without Pitch in it, Jack curls on his side. He tries to go back to sleep, but without discussion or touch or sleep to distract him, his doubts and dark thoughts return. _Why didn't he see how upset you were?_ and _why didn't he stay?_.

Thoughts whirl around his mind like they're on a track, and it hurts, it _hurts_. And then they’re joined by thoughts about how worthless he is - because if he wasn't, someone would have tried to save him. North and Tooth and Bunny, not one of them tried, and if his own family don't care for him, why should anyone else? He can't stop the sobs when they come softly, bringing with them deep grey grief that wraps around him like a mockery of an embrace.

By the time Pitch returns, the pillow is wet beneath Jack's cheek, but he bites his lip, not wanting Pitch to see him like this. With his back to Pitch, he lies still and listens to the rustle of cloth as he undresses, feels the dip of the mattress when he gets into bed. He’s obviously being careful not to wake Jack, and other than a very gentle kiss to his shoulder, he doesn’t touch him.

Tears well in Jack’s eyes again as his heart hurts. Why can’t Pitch see how much he’s hurting? He knows that’s a stupid thought – why should he? – but what if he _does_ and he’s just ignoring him, like everyone else does?

He bites his lip harder and forces himself to not to sob, but he can’t control the way his breath hitches.

“Jack?” Pitch’s voice is soft and tired, and Jack squeezes his eyes shut. “Jack, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Pitch moves closer, putting his hand on Jack’s waist, tries to get him to turn, but he shakes his head. “No. I don’t- Don’t look at me.”

“Jack, please tell me what’s wrong.” There’s distress in Pitch’s voice now and Jack curses himself for upsetting him. And he can’t stop the tears any more, he covers his face and cries, sobs wracking his body. He can't do _anything_ right. After a moment Pitch moves to spoon against him, with an arm over his waist. Jack holds his hand tightly. The contact helps and slowly, slowly, everything stops hurting. The way that Pitch's body curls around Jack’s is like a shield protecting him from the world. It takes away a little of the fear, gives him a feeling of safety that makes the panic ebb away.

His sobs dissolve into sniffles, and though his heart still hurts, mostly he’s just tired.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Pitch asks softly. “Let me help.”

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid,” Jack says, wiping angrily at his eyes. “It’s nothing. Someone reminded me of my father, that’s all. And I just- I made Kal leave me alone and just started crying, like a little child. And when you had to go away again- It just- It was too much. Like I said, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Pitch says. “While I don’t know what exactly you’re talking about, it’s obvious that your father mistreated you. That he would give you to me, thinking that it was-” Anger seeps into his voice and he pauses to let it leech away. “Of course you’re going to be upset. That you’ve been able to do what you have, it amazes me. You’re brave, resilient, selfless-”

Jack’s bitter laugh stops him. “That’s not what I see.”

“You will,” Pitch whispers, and kisses his shoulder. Jack doesn’t believe the words, but the feeling in them, the way Pitch holds him so closely, makes his eyes fill with tears again. It makes him give a watery smile – a couple of crying fits and now he can’t seem to stop.

They lie like that for a while, and Jack gazes at the gentle glow of the dreamsand from the jar on Pitch's dresser. It relaxes him, even when awake. Soon he feels calm enough to turn and look at Pitch.

“You look so tired,” Jack whispers, and strokes his thumb over the dark circles under his eyes. “I’m sorry. You need to sleep, not to coddle me.”

“I would much rather comfort you than sleep,” Pitch says, and fails in a battle against a yawn. “I am tired,” he concedes. “I would really rather not travel through the shadows so far again. It’s extremely draining.”

“How far is it?”

“A few thousand miles,” Pitch says, and Jack stares at him. He can’t even conceive of distances like that. “It only takes a few minutes even then, but it saps my energy badly.”

“So- why do it? Because you need the minerals?”

Pitch blinks at him and then smiles. “You’ve been studying, hmm? Yes, because of the minerals. We use them as a power source for heating over the winter. We have stocks, but it might not be enough if the winter is long. As much as I hate pandering to anyone, the Fintish government must be an exception.”

Jack’s lips twitch into a smile at the thought of Pitch fawning to the Fintish officials. “So did you sort everything out?”

“Not yet. I’ll need to meet with them again, but things will need to be arranged before that can happen. Until then, I’m all yours.” He yawns again and Jack looks up, feeling suddenly shy, and kisses him.

“All mine,” Jack whispers, and Pitch smiles at him with so much affection in his eyes that it makes Jack feel guilty over that earlier whisper of doubt.

“Always.” He yawns again, so Jack pushes him onto his back and cuddles up to his side.

“Go to sleep, Pitch,” Jack says, and quickly drifts off himself, his fears at bay once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you so much to those of you who have left kudos and most especially comments - you're truly inspirational and you make my day <3 Especial thanks goes to [Impextoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Impextoo/pseuds/Impextoo) for the cheerleading and the always thoughtful rambles, and for being a soundboard for this chapter. If you haven't read their amazing [drabbles](http://archiveofourown.org/works/925994/chapters/1799963) inspired by this story, you really should. And you should check out all the [fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) that people keep producing for this story, because wow, you guys are _talented!_


	12. Chapter 12

Jack wakes in darkness to a pounding head and a throat full of rusty nails.

He pushes up onto an elbow to reach for a glass of water to soothe his throat, but after a few cool gulps, he sneezes and decides that he hates the world. It wakes Pitch, who instantly sits up and fusses over him.

“I feel terrible,” Jack says hoarsely, and Pitch puts a hand to his forehead and frowns.

“You have a fever. I’ll send the guards for a healer.”

Jack opens his mouth to say not to bother, that he’s sure it’s just a cold, but it seems like too much energy and he flops back down onto the bed instead.

Pitch returns and gets him more water, brings some handkerchiefs and a damp cloth. He holds that last to Jack’s head and it brings instant relief.

The healer comes quickly and slightly out of breath. When the king calls, it is time to run. She is lowborn but very tall, with long brown hair pinned up carefully. After bowing to Pitch, she comes to Jack’s side. She moves to touch Jack’s forehead, and then glances at Pitch when her fingers are an inch from Jack’s skin, pausing for permission. With a slight incline of his head, Pitch gives it, and she performs her tests with gentle hands that calm Jack.

“It’s just a cold,” she says after a few moments, confirming Jack’s suspicions. “The best thing is rest. I’ll send over some tonics to help with your throat, but mostly the best way to heal is to sleep.”

It is advice that Jack intends to take. When she leaves, Pitch looks at him worriedly, shifting his sweat-damp hair from his forehead.

“You can’t protect me from a cold,” Jack says, and Pitch sighs.

“Alas no,” he says. “But I can look after you. Go back to sleep, Jack. I’ll be here if you need me.”

===

When Jack wakes the sun is morning-pale, and Pitch sits in the armchair near the dresser, reading. As he pushes himself up into something resembling sitting, grabbing Pitch’s pillows to help support himself, Pitch comes over to him instantly.

“How do you feel?”

“Terrible.”

Pitch reaches for a small glass bottle of green liquid from Jack’s nightstand, and pours a little into a cup. “Here, this is the tonic the healer brought. Drink. It should help you feel better.”

It burns as it goes down his throat and he grimaces. “I hate being ill.”

“I hate seeing you ill.”

“I'll try not to make a habit of it,” Jack says, and goes to the bathroom, splashing some water on his face and grimacing at his pale reflection. His head is throbbing in time with his heartbeat and he feels unsteady on his feet. Coughing a little, he goes back to bed and pulls the covers over himself, feeling at once too hot and too cold.

“Funny that when I wanted you with me yesterday, you were in meetings. But when all I want to do is sleep you find time for me.” It’s a nasty thing to say and Jack instantly regrets it. Pitch's lips thin.

“I can't ignore all of my duties, Jack. Not even for you.”

“I just want to feel like I'm important to you, not-” Jack clenches his jaw before more childishness can escape his lips.

“You are _the_ most important person to me,” Pitch says, and then sighs, shaking his head. “This isn't a discussion to have while you're ill. Get some more sleep. I've asked Alden and Onyx to take care of all of my responsibilities today so that I can take care of you. I'll be here.”

Petulance rouses itself in Jack, but he closes his eyes, hoping sleep will come quickly before he can make a fool of himself again.

===

This time Jack sleeps until late in the afternoon, feeling rested and much improved. He washes and then Pitch gives him more of the tonic.

“How do you feel?”

“Better. A little.”

“Can you eat?”

Jack shrugs. He’s not hungry but he supposes he should.

Pitch arranges for a thin broth to be brought up, mostly tasteless through Jack's cold. Once he's eaten enough to feel full, he remembers his earlier churlishness and bites his lip.

“I'm sorry for what I said earlier,” Jack says, pushing himself up into a seated position. Pitch fusses over him, getting an extra pillow to support him. “I shouldn't speak when I'm ill. I always say something to upset someone. Or get upset. I suppose that explains yesterday's overreaction.”

“I think it just made you more sensitive, that's all. Being ill always brings my barriers down,” Pitch says, making Jack drink more of the tonic. “Although I tend to anger rather than tears.”

“You, angry? Surely not,” Jack says with a twitch of a smile.

“I know it's hard to imagine,” Pitch says drily. After checking Jack's temperature, he goes to get another cool cloth, and Jack sighs at the relief it provides. “You should ask Onyx some time. She has a great many stories about me losing my temper.”

“You grew up together, right?”

“We did,” Pitch says, inclining his head. “Over the summers, at least; her mother brought her down here while Lord Tarr governed the north. As she was heir to the throne after me, she had to learn the ways of court, just as I did.”

“But you had fun too, right?”

“There was little time for fun, Jack.”

“Come on, there’s _always_ time for fun. Even I had fun, along with… everything else.” Golden eyes snap to him, and Jack catches his breath, afraid that Pitch will question him. He can think of nothing about his life in Lunanoff that he wishes to speak of.

“We hid from our tutors sometimes,” Pitch says softly, reaching out to brush his fingers through Jack’s hair. “We’d go into the forest and climb the trees, away from searching eyes. We’d speak of our dreams for the future…” He trails off and there is sadness in his eyes. His fingers stroke down Jack’s cheek and neck, lingering on the collar.

Jack isn’t sure what he’s thinking of – his shattered dreams of a family, perhaps – but seeing Pitch’s sadness makes his heart hurt, and he tries to take his mind from dark matters. “What else did you do? For fun?”

“We would sneak our horses out of the stables,” Pitch says, and a memory makes him chuckle. “I rode a mare as a teenager, feisty and black as night. I named her Onyx.”

Jack snorts. “I bet your cousin appreciated that.”

“Most assuredly. She called her ill-tempered treecat after me in revenge.”

“The cat sounds more like you than the horse does Onyx.”

“Oh, Onyx can be feisty on occasion.”

“And I bet Amber could tell me all about that,” Jack says, wondering if she would. She'd be more like to than Onyx would tell her tales of Pitch. “So once you'd got your horses - what then?”

“We’d ride around the gardens, through the forest – we once even managed to sneak past the guards and rode to Iscadin. My father was raging for days about that one.”

“Was it worth it?” It's hard to imagine Pitch young and mischievous. Jack wishes he could have met him.

“It was,” Pitch says without hesitation. “It was the first time I’d been in the city without an entourage. We bought pastries and sat on the dock, watching the people, watching the ships. It was the first time I knew what it was like to not be a prince.”

“Did you like it?”

“Until someone tried to pickpocket me. I was so enraged that grabbed them with a hand made of shadows and held them twenty feet in the air over the water. People didn’t take long to work out who I was after that.”

Jack laughs and his head spins; his wince of pain makes Pitch worry over him and Jack has to bat him away. “Maybe we could go to the docks in disguise. No-one would know you were the king and I was the courtesan. We'd just a couple spending time together.”

Pitch pauses. “I wonder: would you want to spend time with me if you weren't my courtesan?”

His voice is contemplative but Jack's response is instant. “Sure I would. You need more fun in your life, and I think I'm just the man to provide it.”

“I think so too,” Pitch says, lifting Jack’s hand to his lips. “And what would we do for fun? What did you do in Lunanoff?”

Jack blinks, caught off guard. Yet Pitch answered his questions; an answer in return is only fair. “I spent time with my friend, the one I was hoping to see at with Councillor Marek. Although he was due to start a job, so I suppose we wouldn’t have seen each other so often.” Jack frowns; it’s a thought he had been avoiding in Lunanoff. Jamie was his only real friend; Jack's life would have gotten much lonelier. Jamie’s other friends had been pleasant enough but always distant, showing awareness of his status in a way that Jamie never did. Jamie treated him like just another kid; the others treated him like a prince. “As I said before, we used to run along the rooftops; we’d explore - just as I’m doing with Kal.”

“And you miss your friend?”

“Yes,” Jack says, sighing. Talking of Jamie makes him miss him even more, and being ill makes it worse. “I’d like to see him again one day.”

“Perhaps you will,” Pitch says, and a flicker of hope sparks in Jack; it isn’t a yes but it isn’t a no, either. “Despite that – missing your friend - you are glad you chose to stay?”

“Of course I am. Is that not obvious?”

“Considering that I returned last night to find you crying, no, it isn’t.” Pitch sighs and pushes up the sleeve of Jack's bedrobe so that he can trace the lines of his marking. “I want to make you happy but I don’t know how.”

Jack blinks up at him, not sure where this uncertainty has come from. “You are,” he says and smothers a yawn as tiredness attempts to pull him beneath the waves of sleep once more. “Mostly it’s thinking about things that have already happened that makes me unhappy.”

“Then I will ensure that your future is full of happiness.” The fierce intensity in Pitch’s voice is at odds with the sweetness of his words, and Jack laughs softly, squeezing his hand.

Before Jack can speak, there is a knock at the door. When Pitch goes to answer it, Amber and Onyx step into the room. Onyx is dressed even more formally that usual in what looks like a military uniform. Pitch mentioned that she was taking on some of his responsibilities while he looked after Jack, but what duties require her to wear a uniform?

“Jack! We wanted to see how you were,” Amber says, coming over to sit on the bed by his side, either not noticing or not minding Pitch’s frown. Raising a hand to his forehead, she frowns. “Oh, you poor thing. You're burning up.”

“I'm better than I was this morning,” he assures her, gratitude for their visit warming him nearly as much as the fever.

“I brought you a few things,” she says, putting a carefully folded pile of clothes on the bed by his side. “Mostly a few new bedrobes, since that’s where you’ll be spending most of your time until you’re feeling better.”

Jack reaches for the top one. Unfolding it, he sees that there are embroidered sigils on the neckline, looping and complex and like nothing he's ever seen before.

“I copied them from an old Sinaran robe,” she explains. “It’s supposed to be a healing spell, but since I don’t have a whit of magic they’re more wishful thinking than anything. Pretty though.”

“Whereas I brought something that might actually help,” Onyx says, stepping forward and leaning over Amber to hand Jack a bottle of clear liquid. “It's a tincture of herbs, based on a recipe given to me by Lady Ravus. It does wonders.”

“Lady Ravus?” Jack sniffs at it but through his cold he can't smell a thing. “She seemed more like a warrior than a healer.”

“She’s both. A warrior with powerful healing magic.”

Jack blinks at her. “But- I thought highborn Umbrans could only use shadow magic.”

“One of her ancestors married a Selenan,” Amber says, linking her arm with Jack’s and grinning at him. “Back when it was frowned on for highborn Umbrans to marry anyone other than another highborn Umbran, never mind a Selenan – we were enemies at the time, in the middle of one war or another. But they were madly in love and didn't care about any of that. It's very romantic.” She puts a dramatic hand to her chest and opens her mouth to continue, but before she can there’s another knock at the door.

Pitch’s eyes roll toward it in a glare. Tutting, he goes to answer it, revealing Kal.

“I’m sorry to intrude, your highness,” he says with a deep bow. “But when I heard that Jack wasn’t feeling well, I-” He notices Onyx and his eyes widen. His mouth works silently for a moment before settling on a hopeless smile. Onyx smiles back; though she must be able to see his response, she is as polite and civil as ever.

“That’s very nice of you, Kal,” she says.

“Well, of course, Jack’s my friend,” Kal says, his words stumbling over one another in their hurry. His smile is embarrassed but there is still warmth in it. He walks over to Jack and hands him a small package wrapped in cheesecloth. “They’re made from lemon and honey,” Kal says as Jack opens it to see small square pastilles. “Ma always said they helped with a cold.”

“With all of these remedies Jack can’t help but get better quickly,” Pitch mutters, pausing for another moment by the door, hands on his hips, as though he expects another knock. When it becomes apparent that Kal is the last visitor, he comes back to Jack, sitting beside him once more and taking his hand.

Jack pops one of the pastilles in his mouth, and even through his cold he can tell that they’re delicious. “Thank you,” he says to Kal, and as he looks around the room he feels warmth toward these people; he feels _cared_ for. All of them are joined in their concern for him, enough to put aside the time to come and visit him, to give him gifts. “Thank you. All of you.”

“We wanted to see you,” Amber says. “When the king sent me a message this morning to say that you were ill and that he'd be dressing himself to spend more time with you, I was _terrified_. And when Onyx said it was only a cold...” She shakes her head.

“I think Pitch has a flair for the melodramatic.”

They talk for a while, even Pitch, though his dry humour is clearly evident. But as Jack's yawns grow more frequent, Pitch ushers them all out.

“Sleep, Jack. You look so tired.”

Pitch's words could just as easily apply to himself. It looks like he has sooty fingerprints beneath his eyes, and his skin is dull and pale.

“You sleep too. You're exhausted.”

“Yesterday’s travelling took a lot out of me,” Pitch concedes. “But it's fine. I'll watch over you-”

“I don't need someone to watch me sleep. It's more important that you don't get ill. So come to bed. It'll help me sleep,” he adds, and Pitch's shoulders bow in defeat.

The day has grown late, and once Pitch draws the curtains it's easily dark enough to sleep. He strips and pulls on a bedrobe of black silk before climbing beneath the bedclothes. He spoons his body against Jack's, wrapping an arm protectively over his waist.

“You're so warm,” Pitch murmurs, his lips brushing against the back of Jack’s neck. It feels good.

“Well yeah; I have a fever.”

“But you're never warm,” Pitch continues, concern colouring his voice. “Your skin is usually so cool.”

“Then you should be grateful; you said just a few days ago that the nights are getting colder.”

Pitch sighs and kisses the back of Jack's neck. “I'll be grateful when you're better. Go to sleep, Jack.”

===

When Jack wakes the next day, he feels much better; as though the giant squeezing his head between finger and thumb has loosed his grip.

Letting his head fall to the side he sees Pitch is sitting at a table on the opposite side of the room, talking quietly with Alden. He notices Jack’s waking immediately, and breaks off mid-sentence to come over to him.

“Did we wake you? If it wasn’t a matter of urgency I would have asked Alden to come back when you were awake-”

“You didn’t wake me,” Jack says, smiling a little at Pitch fussing like a mother hen. “If it’s urgent, go back to your politics. Go to the study if you like. I’m going to have a bath.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“I doubt a bath will be _too_ taxing,” Jack says, pushing himself up from the bed and trying not to sway. Pitch looks unconvinced and makes him drink more of the healer's tonic.

“I could come back,” Alden starts, getting to his feet, but Pitch sighs.

“No. We need to make a decision this morning so that the letters can be sent out. Jack, if you need me-”

“I'll be _fine_ ,”Jack says. It takes an effort to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He wishes he hadn't bothered, for Pitch continues to fuss over him, asking Alden to wait in the study so that he can run Jack's bath.

“You're being ridiculous,” Jack tells him as he climbs in, and Pitch nods solemnly.

“I am,” he agrees, and kisses Jack before leaving him to warm water and fuzzy thoughts about how being cared for can be so pleasant and so annoying at the same time.

When he gets out, his stomach growls and he puts a hand to it. All he had yesterday was the thin broth; no wonder he's hungry. A little food might ease the lightheadedness too. He could ask the guards, but with Pitch's protectiveness gone into overdrive he might be offended that Jack didn't ask him.

Following the muted sound of voices, Jack finds himself at the dark wooden door of Pitch's study. It is within Pitch's suite of rooms, but other than being briefly shown around, Jack hasn't been in. He knocks, and when he hears Pitch call out for him to enter, he does. Large windows let the grey daylight in, illuminating walls covered in bookcases or old maps.

Pitch and Alden sit at a large wooden table, another map spread out on its surface. It is a map of the world, its corners weighed down by heavy books.

“Jack,” Pitch says, coming over to him and taking his hands. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better,” Jack says, squeezing his hand and pulling him over to the table. He wants to look at the map. Sitting in the seat beside Pitch's he studies the slightly yellowed parchment. Some of the borders are vastly different to those on maps in Lunanoff, so much so that even a disinterested student like him notices. He wonders: is it because they had little information on the changing world after the exodus to the moon, or were those maps made with purpose? Knowing how many lies have been told to him has made him cynical, and being ill makes his moods wax negative.

Fintan is out near the southwest corner of Umbra, across a wide channel of sea. There is Blenkeld, the Umbran port city on the coast, far away from Iscadin and the palace.

“What are you planning?” Jack asks.

“We need to meet up with the Fintish ambassadors once more,” Pitch says, sitting and taking Jack's hand, unconcerned with Alden's presence. “They are asking a lot of us, to sail to war, on autumn seas no less. The Fintish king himself has agreed to meet with me in Umbra. That alone speaks volumes about their desperation. The man hates sailing with a passion.”

“Is the king coming here? To Iscadin?”

Pitch shakes his head. “No, it will be in Blenkeld. I'll be sending a message to Lord Tarr to ask him to bring his journey mages south.”

“Journey mages?”

“Those who can open portals to travel over long distances. Like Lunanoff's silver bridge,” Alden says. “Nearly all of them are of Selenan descent- I'm sure they'll be delighted to meet you, Jack.”

“You think so?” The thought of Selenans on the planet didn't even cross his mind. They are never mentioned in Lunanoff, but then why would they be? There is no room for them in the city, and Selena has most likely been a grey wasteland for years. And yet, what of those in Lunanoff who might have relatives here in Umbra, or in other countries? Now that he has started to think about it, how strange it is that there's been so little contact between Lunanoff and those others who were once Selenan.

Thinking is difficult with his headache and he frowns, willing himself to get better quickly.

“It will take a few weeks to organise everything,” Pitch says. “But I'm sure with Tarr's fondness for parties, he'll put something together so he can introduce you.”

“I'd like that,” Jack says, wondering what they're like, if they would truly like to meet the descendant of the king who abandoned their families. Despite that, he's curious to meet them.

“But I'm sure you didn't come to discuss politics. Is everything alright, Jack?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to take a break. I'd like something to eat.”

“We're more or less done for now,” Alden says, rolling up the map and standing

“You don't have to leave-”

“I'm sure the king doesn't want me to intrude any further,” Alden says with a smile. “It's good to hear that you're feeling better, Jack. You should have heard Pitch fretting.”

The indignant look on Pitch's face sends Jack into a fit of laughter that hurts his head, but it's worth it. “I don't mind being fretted over. It's nice to feel cared for.”

“But of course,” Alden says, but before he can continue there is a knock at the door.

When Pitch calls for them to enter, Kal steps into the room. He smiles at Jack and his father, and he bows to Pitch.

“I hope you don't mind, your highness,” Kal says. “I wanted to check on how Jack was doing.”

“Kal,” Alden says, shaking his head, exasperation leaking into his voice. “You can't bother the king at all hours of the day. It's your job to look after Jack when Pitch isn't available, but right now he is taking time to look after him. I would have thought you would relish the time away from working.”

“I have fun with Jack, Pa. It's not like a job at all.”

Alden sighs and goes over to his son, clasping his shoulder. Only now, when they're side by side, does Jack see the similarity between father and son. Alden is taller than Kal, more slender and far more serious, but they share a squared jawline and eyes of silver. There is clear affection there and Jack feels jealousy like a hand around his throat, wishing he could have had even a sliver of that love from his own father.

“Honestly,” Alden says. “I don't know where you get this from. Your mother's as hard-working as I am.”

“I do work hard. I just enjoy it,” Kal says with an easy shrug. “What's so wrong with that?”

“Nothing, as long as you remember that it _is_ work.”

“Of course I do,” Kal says with an exaggerated eye roll, and turns his warm smile to Jack. “How are you feeling today? Have my pastilles done the trick?”

“I'm feeling better, so I guess they must have.”

“Ma's recipe,” Kal tells Alden, whose expression instantly softens, a smile lightening up his whole face.

“Then you'll be better in no time,” Alden says. “Amilla's pastilles and potions never fail.” Under the weight of that smile, Jack's opinions of Alden shift. He's always liked him and found him friendly, but his overarching opinion of him as a composed military man are overshadowed by how fatherly he is when his son is around. “But come, Kal. Let's leave Jack to his rest.”

After saying his goodbyes and rolling up the map, Pitch pulls a cord on the wall. Within moments Pitch's manservant appears. King though he is, Pitch has little patience for servants, preferring to do things himself, but on the rare occasions he requires assistance he calls on Ivor. Tall and willowy even for a highborn Umbran, his constant dreamy smile belies his frightening proficiency. So far Jack has seen him bring books, clean, and carry so many glasses of wine without spilling a drop that it seemed like it must be an illusion. He's also unfailingly pleasant, and after bowing to Pitch, he turns his smile to Jack.

“I heard that you're feeling a little better today, Jack, and I'm truly glad to hear it.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, returning the smile.

“We'll be taking lunch in the drawing room,” Pitch says. “Arrange for something to be brought up.”

“Of course, your highness,” Ivor says with a slight bow of his head. “Something spicy, perhaps? Just the thing to burn away a cold.”

He leaves, and Jack follows Pitch into the drawing room. He's spent a longer in here than the study, lounging on sofas and watching through the windows as the trees fall into autumnal colours, like they're twisting into fire. Sitting on his favourite sofa, carefully angled to the windows and plump with black and grey cushions, he watches Pitch pull a table over.

“Can I help?” He starts to get up, but Pitch waves him back down.

“You're ill. Sit.”

“I'm not that ill-”

“Let me fuss over you, Jack,” Pitch says as he pulls the table into place before them. He sits and leans in to kiss Jack, but Jack pulls back.

“You shouldn't. I don't want you to get ill - I'm not as good at being a mother hen as you are.”

“Then it's fortunate that highborn Umbrans rarely get illnesses, isn't it?” The kiss is brief but full of a sweetness that flows through to Jack. When Pitch moves away, he finds that Jack's fingers are tangled in his robe and he doesn't get very far.

When Ivor returns with a tureen on a trolley, Jack is curled up against Pitch, dozing lightly, not quite asleep. Pitch's fingers are in Jack's hair, where they so often find themselves. Neither of them bother to rouse themselves as Ivor takes the lid from the tureen and starts to spoon the contents into dishes. A spicy, savoury smell fills the air.

It's delicious, the strong flavours coming through despite his cold. He empties his bowl, and a second serving, along with chunks of bread slathered in butter. By the time he puts down his fork he is full and content. He rearranges the cushions to be more comfortable and leans against Pitch. Despite being ill and holding a handkerchief to his nose more often than not, he still feels happy when Pitch slides an arm over his shoulders and they sit together watching the trees dance with the wind.

===

In the afternoon, Monty comes to see Jack. It warms Jack's heart perhaps even more than the visits that the others paid him, for he's obviously terrified of Pitch but came anyway. He brings with him a book of Selenan tales, in case he gets bored of lying in bed.

That's not something that is a danger. Pitch has been telling him tales of his own, of adventures on the high seas, when he captained his own ship. Visits to far off lands, collecting trinkets that he shows to Jack. With awe, Jack holds in his own hands crystals and books and carvings from places that are nothing more than fairy tales to Jack, told by his nanny when he was young and by North when he was older - though North's versions were so unlike the nanny's that they might as well have been different stories altogether. Princes became boisterous risk takers instead of being charming and pure of heart; innocent maidens became warriors with tongues as sharp as their swords.

The thought of those tales make him feel restless. He wants to feel the wind on his skin, to breathe sweet lungfuls of fresh air. There's no chance of Pitch taking him outside while he's ill but perhaps he can have the next best thing.

“Can we go out on the balcony?” Pitch pauses, looking hesitant, so Jack presses. “All the time I've been here, being outside has made me feel better. And I'm an ice mage - the cool might help me. Not to mention with this fever-”

“Alright, alright,” Pitch says with a sigh. “We can go onto the balcony for a little while. But you must let me know if it makes you feel unwell.”

“I will. I promise.”

Ivor is called to light the braziers that sit in the corners of the balcony like oversized iron goblets. Despite Jack's protests, Pitch wraps him in a cloak, pale blue with an ornate silver clasp. It rests lightly on his shoulders, and the material is soft, neither too warm nor too cold, a good choice for someone who doesn't feel the chill in the air. By the time they step outside, the fires are crackling merrily.

When they are seated he pulls his legs onto the sofa and tugs the cloak aside so that his bare feet are exposed to the cool air. Jack breathes in deeply, or as deeply as his cold will allow, and then lets out his breath in a sigh. A few more deep breaths and he already feels better, a little less like his head is full of fuzz. He leans against Pitch, resting his head on his shoulder and joining their hands.

The days are growing shorter and though it is early still, the sky is already darkening. Above there is nothing but a featureless spread of grey that blocks the sun; what little light there is fades rapidly. The colours of the treetops, merry reds and burnished colds, seem to desaturate as the day comes to a close.

As he gazes out at the darkening sky, Jack thinks of Monty, Kal, and Alden, Onyx and Amber. Even Ivor - all of these people concerned with his wellbeing. He feels touched that they care for him so and a little awed that they show it so openly. Back in Lunanoff, whenever he got ill, Tooth and his brothers would come to see him but their visits would be brief, as though they were afraid that showing him too much affection would reflect badly on them; perhaps it would. Jack can't help a sigh.

“Is something the matter?”

“No. I'm just remembering.”

“Will you tell me?”

Jack pauses, and then thinks of everything he's already shared. He can share a little more. “Whenever I was ill in Lunanoff, no-one ever spent much time with me, as you're doing. My family - I never saw my father, not once. Tooth, North and Bunny - they'd come to see me, but not for long. As though they had somewhere more important to be.”

“More important?” Pitch's voice is rich with annoyance and his frown is deep. “What could be more important than your health?”

“I understand that they all had jobs, but... You know, Ben was the one who would come to see me most often,” Jack says with grim humour. “Perhaps he was just checking up on the health of his pawn.”

“The less said about Benard, the happier I will be. Unless we speak of how very much I'd like to get him in the dungeons and make him pay for the way he treated you. Your father too, for that matter.”

Jack is certain that Pitch means it but isn't sure how he feels about the thought of Ben and his father being Pitch's prisoners. For all they cast him aside like he was nothing more than a bargaining chip, they had their reasons. More importantly, it has turned out to be very much for the better; Jack's life here in Umbra is a vast improvement on what he had in Lunanoff. Part of him wants them to pay for their actions, for the way he has suffered because of them - especially his father, who treated him so badly for so long. But when Jack thinks back to Marek, to the way Pitch was towards him, he can see a hint what Amber and Onyx meant when they talked about darkness within Pitch. If Ben and Jack's father ended up in Pitch's dungeons, that darkness would truly show itself, and the thought makes Jack uneasy. Vengeance doesn't sit well with him.

“You shouldn't dwell on such things when you're ill,” Pitch says softly, and kisses Jack's temple. “The book that your friend brought you - would you like me to read to you?”

“Yes,” Jack says, smiling. “I'd like that.”

Jack asks for his favourite story, the Tale of the Prince of Winter. After years of sadness and many challenges, a lonely winter sprite finally finds a home and a family. When his nanny told him that tale, Jack always pictured himself as that winter sprite, and longed for his own happy ending.

As night falls, Pitch's velvet voice wrapping around him, Jack thinks that he might have found it at last.

===

It takes a week to convince Pitch that he's well enough to resume lessons with Jethryn.

On the morning of returning to his lessons, Pitch leaves early to go to a meeting about the situation in Fintan. Onyx went with him, talking rapidly about the treacherous autumn tides, leaving Jack with Amber. No sheer cloth today: instead the robe is made of soft, thin wool in a rich blue. It falls to the floor, skimming the tops of his feet. Black trews are revealed by slits up the side that will make it easier to sit cross-legged in his lesson. The only decoration is a narrow band of beading on the collar, but the wool is such a lovely colour that it doesn't need more embellishment. Jack suspects, however, that the choice of material was not Amber's own.

“Did Pitch tell you to wrap me up warmly?” He asks, and Amber laughs, nodding.

“He did. The king's a little overprotective on occasion.”

“More than a little,” Jack mutters, then winces, knowing that he is being ungrateful. “I mean-”

“You've had him fussing over you all week,” Amber says softly. “Sweet as it is, a whole week of it is more than a little overwhelming. That's one of the king's specialities, being overly everything. Overwhelming, overprotective - he never does things by halves.”

Now it is Jack's turn to laugh; that's true enough, and as accurate a description of Pitch as he's likely to hear. “Isn't that the truth.”

“He's always been the same while I've known him, and I daresay if you ask Onyx, she'd say he's been that way since childhood.”

Jack thinks back to Pitch's _“There wasn't much time for fun, Jack,”_ and suspects that she's right. “He's intense,” he agrees.

“Have you been outside today, Jack?” He shakes his head. “There's a reason that Pitch is being especially careful of you today and it's not just because you've been ill.”

“What do you mean?”

“You should see it for yourself,” she says mysteriously.

“Can I see it from the balcony?”

She nods, smiling, and follows him as he steps outside.

As he opens the door he knows that there is something different. The air is cold, colder than he's ever felt it, and almost sharp. Along the wall of the balcony, something glitters in the pale sunlight and he steps forward, mesmerised.

“Frost,” he whispers. Tiny particles covering the stone, and when he touches it he feels his magic stir, try to reach out to it but being blocked by the binding. He _aches_ suddenly, like the way he aches when he thinks of Jamie. A sense of loss, of missing something that should be a part of his life.

It will be, Jack promises himself. His magic and Jamie both.

===

When Jack is sitting in Jethryn's workrooms, cross-legged and breathing deep, it's difficult to focus, knowing that frost is on the ground, just _waiting_ for him. He tries, and manages to meditate for a few minutes, but then the thought of frost breaks the surface of his calm like the ice breaking on the water of the ritual pool that first day here.

“It’s more difficult to do this inside,” Jack says with a sigh, stretching out his legs. “Can we go outside? Especially since there’s frost on the ground. I think it’ll really help me.”

“I’m not sure frost on the ground is going to help with meditation,” Jethryn says, but a smile plays around his lips. “In fact, I think the cold might be rather distracting.”

“I don’t get cold.”

“ _You_ might not,” Jethryn says, but he stands and moves to the wardrobe by the side of the room, pulling out a heavy grey cloak with angular sigils embroidered around the edge in silver thread. As he drapes it over his shoulders, he pauses. “Are you sure you don’t need a cloak?”

“I’m sure,” Jack says, not bothering to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

In the courtyard where they meditate, frost sparkles on the stone walls and floor. He knows Jethryn is right, that the excitement Jack feels is not conducive to meditation but he can’t help it. He can feel it under his feet and under his fingers when he touches the wall. He feels an instant connection to the frost, a spark that longs to become a storm.

“Remember, Jack,” Jethryn says, arranging his cloak so that he sits on it as well as covering him. “If I feel that you’ve been improving, I’ll dim the binding on your collar; but if I _don’t_ , then I’ll delay it.”

“There’s that bribery again,” Jack says, but obediently sits opposite him.

He closes his eyes and breathes, and tries to connect with the frost. He feels it under his feet; dropping his hands, he feels it under his fingers. At first the excitement ebbs up but he breathes through it, lets the connection with the ice cool his emotions. It’s a strange feeling, exhilarating and calming at the same time. He sinks deeper into the connection but the binding is a barrier that is impossible to overcome. Annoyance buzzes in him, but he forces himself to breathe, reminds himself that this is the road to removing that barrier.

He tries to open his awareness further, to the breeze on his arms, whispering through his hair. To the crisp smell of the autumn air. It calms him. Soothes him.

“Open your eyes, Jack,” Jethryn says, and he does, offering him a smile. Jethryn smiles back. “You’ve improved so much. You seem calmer. More at ease with yourself.”

“I am. I feel more confident. Like I’m where I belong.”

Jethryn’s smile is soft and gentle, like a comforting touch. “I’m happy for you, Jack. It's obviously helping you; you’ve done well today.”

Jack basks in the warmth of the compliment, feeling one step closer to getting the binding dimmed.

===

Knowing that he is so close to his goal makes him focused, and every day Jethryn says again how impressed he is. By the end of the week, anticipation is a roar in Jack's thoughts.

Evening brings Pitch to him after a long day apart. They're taking their supper in the drawing room, savoury scones and a hot sweet tea made from herbs and flowers. Jack has missed him and he leans close, tangling their fingers as he nibbles on a slice of apple.

“Jethryn has been telling me how much you’ve improved,” Pitch says, and Jack looks up at him, startled.

“Did he ask you about dimming the binding?”

“He did,” Pitch says, sipping his tea. “And I said that if he thinks you’re ready, he should go ahead.”

“Pitch,” Jack says softly, sitting up and feeling delight bubble in him. “Do you know how much this means to me?”

“You’ve been working hard, you deserve it. I hope it’s everything you think it will be.”

“Was it for you? When you started to learn how to use your magic?”

“I never had my magic bound,” Pitch says, his lips thin and a spark of anger in his eyes. “I still don’t understand why they did that to you.”

“Neither do I,” Jack says with a shrug. Now that he is finally going to be able to use his magic, the reasons behind his binding seem less important. “Tell me what it was like for you.”

“I started to feel a connection to my magic when I was eight; by then I had already had a lot of the lessons you’ve had about meditation and theory.”

“So you’re saying that you were better than me when you were eight? You must have been a precocious child.”

Pitch looks at him coolly and flicks his ear gently. Jack tries to act indignant but his chuckle undermines the act. “Perhaps if you work hard, you’ll be able to show as much talent as my eight-year-old self.”

Jack truly laughs now, and climbs into Pitch’s lap. “I daresay I’ll manage. In any case, there are many other areas where I show talent, right?” He kisses him to emphasise what he means, and Pitch laughs softly.

“Indeed there are, Jack; but perhaps you should remind me?”

“That I could,” Jack whispers as he pushes Pitch’s robe off his shoulders.

===

When Jack arrives at Jethryn's work rooms, he is deep in study, all of his attention on a large leather-bound book. Jack closes the door a little more loudly than he should, and Jethryn looks up with a smiile.

“Good afternoon,” he says to Jack, and gestures at the book. “This is the spell to dim the binding on your collar. I'm sure the king mentioned to you that I'd like to go ahead with that.”

“He did,” Jack says, words coming out in a tangled rush. “This is going to be wonderful-”

“Your magic is still going to be heavily bound. The collar was made using a very old design. As well as creating the markings, it has another function for courtesans with magic-”

“The binding, right. But you can dim it.”

“Yes. The binding can be reduced all at once, or in ten increments. Once you've mastered the magic that you can access, we can dim it more.”

“So when do we start?”

Jethryn laughs and stands, closing the book. “Impatient, aren't you?”

“You know I am,” Jack says, not bothering to try and hide his excitement. Finally he's going to reclaim something that his family took from him so many years ago, something that should have been his all along. Another reason that he belongs here in Umbra, where people care about what he wants.

“We'll go to the courtyard, where you'll be able to connect with the wind and the frost,” Jethryn says, putting his cloak over his shoulders. He pauses as though he will ask Jack if he needs one of his own, and Jack is grateful when he doesn't. He's had quite enough of that.

It's a challenge to walk through the halls to the courtyard - he wants to _run_ , he wants this binding off. He forces himself to match Jethryn's steps, tries to breathe deep and slow. A little calm descends on him but it's like a blanket covering a squirming child.

As Jack expected, Jethryn begins the lesson as he always does, with meditation. By the time Jack is ordered to open his eyes, the calm is deeper, less of a mask. He feels the cool courtyard stone under his legs, the pale warmth of the weak sun, the breeze whispering over his skin as though it knows what is going to happen.

“Alright, Jack,” Jethryn says, pushing to his feet. “I'm going to start the spell. It'll take a little while, so keep up your calm breathing as best you can.”

He moves behind Jack and kneels. He touches the back of the collar, careful not to brush against his skin.

The spell is a song in Jethryn's musical voice, the words of the Old Tongue trickling over Jack like warm rain. It's soothing and it's easier than he expected to keep his breaths deep and slow. He relaxes deeper and deeper into the stillness, only half-aware of Jethryn's voice, and then-

There's no sound but it feels like a key turning. A release. An awareness. He keeps his eyes closed and tries to listen, as Jethryn has taught him. He can hear the wind in the same as he's always been able to, but more so. Clearer. There are no words; it's more like an emotion, light and giddy and playful.

Jack stands, eyes still closed, so that he can feel the wind over more of his body. And then he tries to push his will on it, as Jethryn taught him-

He cries out as he is thrown into the air, carried on the wind like a leaf. He tries to gather his magic, pictures stillness, and he floats for a moment or two. Down in the courtyard Jethryn stares up at him with wide eyes, Jack must be ten feet in the air. His heart leaps with tightly knotted fear and excitement. He's _flying_ -

Until suddenly the wind seems to drop him and he's falling, tumbling down to the hard stone courtyard. Soft shadows catch him, lowering him to the ground.

“That was amazing!” Jack says, jubilant, his heart racing. “Did you see that?”

“That was _dangerous_ ,” Jethryn says, pale and wide-eyed. “If I hadn't been here to catch you-”

“Then the wind would have,” Jack laughs. “I can control it-”

“ _Jack!_ “ A note of command in Jethryn's voice stills a little of Jack's giddiness. “You _cannot_ control it. That's not something that comes with the magic - you have to work for it, and work hard. You have to learn control. And we are going to sit here until you have. I knew you were powerful but I had no idea that you were _this_ powerful.”

There is fear in Jethryn's voice too, and that is what gives Jack pause. _Could_ he have controlled the wind? No, he thinks. The excitement jolted his focus out of place, and there is no way he would have been able to gather it again before hitting the ground. From that height the best he could have hoped for would have been a broken limb.

“You're right,” he says in a quiet voice. For the second time in as many weeks, Jethryn has proven Jack's naïveté to be just that. Jack needs to start respecting his teacher's wisdom.

“Sit,” Jethryn says, more softly now, and sits opposite him, opening the box he bought with him. He pulls out a single orange leaf and lays it on the ground between them. “Control the wind to lift that a foot in the air.”

 _Easy,_ Jack thinks, reaching for his magic; the wind gusts through the courtyard, picking up the leaf and whisking it away over the high walls.

“Try again.”

Again and again and again, twenty times before Jack manages to so as Jethryn asked. He is getting better at recognising what he needs to do. The wind is full of burbling energy, wanting to play. He needs to bend his will against it, to command it. It takes all of the lessons from Jethryn to find his calm centre, to overcome his own excitement. Only then, when he has control over his own emotions, does he manage to extend that control to the wind.

When Kal comes to collect Jack, Jethryn sends him away, saying that they need more time to practice.

By the time the sun is setting, Jethryn has had him lifting leaves to different heights, circling them, leaping over the walls on purpose this time.

This is his magic, he realises. He can access his magic and he can _control_ it! He can make the wind do what he wants!

“Can I try letting it carry me again?”

Jethryn winces and shakes his head. “No, Jack. Let's continue our lessons with inanimate objects first. But if you continue to improve then yes, the wind will carry you.”

Jack beams, feeling like he is sparkling with joy.

This is what he's meant to do; this is who he's meant to be.

And Umbra is where he belongs.

===

When he gets back to the room, Jack sends for Amber. He has a plan, and he needs her help.

She puts his plan into action with her usual effortless style, and once she has gone, he waits.

Hearing the guards greet Pitch out in the hallway, Jack shrugs off his robe and gets into place on the bed, legs carefully crossed to protect his modesty. He tries a demure look, but excitement barrels through him and he grins as Pitch comes into the bedroom.

Pitch stares.

Jack asked Amber to make him beautiful, and from Pitch's response, she did an excellent job. She lined his eyes with black and silver, put silver chains around his ankle, decorated with tiny sapphires. The materials are echoed in his headdress: silver filigree and sapphires, delicate chains. Long earrings brush his shoulders, and he moves his foot across the sheets, making a tiny bell on his anklet chime out.

“Welcome back, my king.”

Pitch stares for another moment and then lets the papers in his hand fall to the floor, scattering like autumn leaves. He strides over to Jack and climbs on top of him, kissing him hungrily. The kiss, the feeling of Pitch, fully clothed on top of him, makes Jack groan and buck his hips up against Pitch's. He wraps his arms around him, dragging his nails down his back.

In response Pitch growls, soft, low, and bites at Jack's bottom lip. Jack puts a hand to Pitch's hair and slides their lips together once more, pressing his tongue into Pitch's mouth. Pitch pushes back and Jack willingly cedes control.

Pulling back, Pitch grins at him and then starts to kiss his way down Jack's body. He pauses at his nipples, teasing at one with his tongue. It's a shock of pleasure and Jack gasps, hands curling in the sheets.

“Sensitive today, Jack?”

“I'm always sensitive,” Jack says, the last syllable hitching high and breathless as Pitch takes his nipple between his teeth and bites gently.

“And to what do I owe this show of beauty?” Pitch asks and then spends a moment licking and sucking on Jack's nipple, a hand going to his other nipple and squeezing. Under these ministrations, Jack's wits are scattered and it's impossible to answer; but Pitch continues, “You are always beautiful, of course, but this is something special. Something you're doing for me, moreover, and that makes it more special still. I've been wondering about asking you for a portrait; perhaps I should have you painted like this, naked and willing and mine, all mine.”

“I'm always yours,” Jack gasps, finding his voice. “And that's why- I want to be yours. I want to give you something special. I want you- I want you inside me.”

Pitch lifts his head and looks up at Jack with wide golden eyes, his mouth open in surprise. Jack touches his cheek and smiles at him.

“Over these past few weeks I've changed,” Jack says. “Before, everything's been so - tainted - by _how_ I got here, that I never really appreciated the fact that I _am_ here. That I've got real friends - Onyx and Amber and Kal and Monty. I've got all these people that care about me, and I'm in this incredible country, and I've started to use my magic today... I feel so lucky. But most of all, I've got you. You don't care about my moods, and you comfort me when I'm upset - you don't even care that I'm kind of using you to help me forget. You just - care.”

“You're my courtesan, Jack,” Pitch says, cupping Jack's cheek, then letting his hand slide down to Jack's collar, tracing the edge before hooking a finger around the ring and pulling him in for a brief kiss that steals Jack's breath. “I would do anything for you.”

“I know you would. And that's what I've been thinking about. That- protectiveness. And the possessiveness. And just- everything. I've been taking my life here for granted. Been so caught up in what I've lost that I've not been paying enough attention to what I have. And what I have is so much better than anything I've lost.”

Pitch's finger is still curled around the ring of Jack's collar, and when he swallows the finger moves against his throat.

“And that makes you want me inside you?”

Jack groans, his cock throbbing to hear those words in Pitch's velvet voice. “Yes. I feel safe. I feel at home. And I want you.”

“You want me,” Pitch murmurs. “So not just anyone would do? You want _me_?”

“Yes,” Jack whispers.

Pitch's eyes flare golden and he captures Jack's lips, steals his breath and makes his heartbeat race.

Pitch makes his way down Jack's body, pushing his legs apart so that he can lick at Jack's shaft, taking the head in his mouth and reducing Jack to a shivering, moaning mess in a matter of moments. Gently squeezing his balls makes him gasp and sink further into the pillows. His desire spirals up and up, thrums and shivers. He pays a little more attention to his cock but seems to sense that Jack can't take much more of this tonight.

“If you're sure you want this, hand me the oil.”

Without even a moment of hesitation, Jack does.

He closes his eyes as Pitch starts to open him up, fingers sliding smoothly into him, pleasure hitching with each ragged breath.

Pitch stands for a moment so that he can strip, and Jack groans at the sight of his cock jutting proudly from his body.

“How do you want to do this?” Pitch asks. “It might be easier if you're on your hands and knees-”

“I want to see you,” Jack whispers.

Nodding, Pitch climbs on top of him, hooking a knee over his shoulder. “Like this?”

Jack nods, and presses the oil into Pitch's hand before he can ask again if Jack is sure.

He watches Pitch drip oil onto his cock, feeling his heartbeat flutter in his throat like a half-mad butterfly. Thoughts flutter too - _He's so big_ and _it's going to hurt_ \- but they're overwhelmed by the knowledge that he wants this, that he _needs_ this.

The feel of Pitch's cock against his hole makes nerves leap in Jack's chest, but he breathes through it, dips into a well of calm.

“Do you want me to bind you?”

“Not this time,” Jack whispers. “I want to touch you.”

“And you're sure?”

“I'm sure,” Jack whispers, and Pitch presses in.

A flash of pain threatens to cut its way through Jack's pleasure but he forces himself to breathe deep and slow. The larger toy hurt at first, but it melted into the fiercest pleasure Jack has ever felt. This will be the same.

“Are you alright?” Pitch asks, and when Jack nods, he pushes in another inch, forces a gasp from Jack.

“I'm alright, I'm alright,” he whispers, breathing, forcing himself to relax. “I'm alright. More.”

Another inch, slowly, Pitch holding Jack's gaze. Pain and pleasure are a whirlwind in Jack, it hurts, it makes his dick ache, he wants more, he wants less. He's _shaking_ , and gasping, and he's clutching Pitch's forearms so tightly that his nails are drawing blood. Pitch's breath is coming quickly now.

“ _So tight_ ,” he whispers, and his lips brush against Jack's.

Jack can only make a vague noise of agreement and then Pitch pulls back- “Wait-” Jack starts, but Pitch slides back in, just that same few inches, and the word melts into a moan. He thrusts again, that same shallow thrust, and Jack's nails dig into Pitch's arms again. He thrusts again, and again, and the balance shifts toward pleasure and Jack sobs, letting his head fall back.

“Jack-”

“'s good,” he manages to choke out.

“But-”

“Don't stop,” Jack says, his voice breaking and wishing he were brave enough to thrust his hips up.

A pause, and then Pitch continues his pace, slowly and shallow, slowly growing deeper with a spike of pain that is almost instantly washed away by pleasure. Jack's cheeks are wet, his makeup must be a mess, but when he opens his eyes Pitch is looking down at him with wonder.

“You really want me,” he whispers, and Jack can only sob as he smiles, reaching up to pull Pitch down for a kiss.

“Of course I do,” he says, another, deeper thrust forcing a gasp from him. “I want you so much. I-” Whatever he was going to say dissolves as he feels Pitch's hips against his own. Silence and stillness reigns for a heartbeat. “You're inside me. All the way.”

“I am.” Pitch's voice is a whisper, just as Jack's is.

“Pitch,” Jack says, and kisses him again, his chest feeling with golden warmth, joy and _rightness_ echoing in him.

“Jack,” Pitch says as he starts to slowly thrust into him, holding his gaze all the while, watching for any sign that Jack wants him to stop.

He doesn't get it.

Despite the tears and the pain, the closeness that he feels overwhelms it all. Pleasure shimmers in him like frost and he wants this to last forever - not even the pleasure but the closeness, the feeling that Pitch is a part of him, that he is a part of Pitch, and the deep sense of belonging that comes with it.

But the pleasure builds and builds to an unstable precipice and he can feel himself start to topple.

“I- I'm-”

“Come for me,” Pitch says, his voice utterly wrecked, and with a cry, Jack does. It ripples through him, consumes him. He collapses back on the bed and just seconds later Pitch's own cry rends the air as he spills his seed inside Jack. The thought makes Jack whimper again, feeling raw and overwhelmed, and he lies there for a few moments, breath coming ragged.

When he opens his eyes, Pitch's head is in the crook of Jack's neck, his hands resting on his shoulders. Jack gasps when he sees that his forearms are not only bloody from Jack's nails, but covered in a thin, quickly-melting sheen of frost.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispers, and Pitch lifts his head to smile at him tiredly.

“I think you could use a little more control of your magic, Jack.”

There's no anger in his voice, only gentle humour, and Jack feels the spike of tension flatline. “I guess so.”

“As for the nail marks - if they scar, which I doubt, it is a mark I shall wear most proudly.”

Jack feels heat in his cheeks and he grins. “You won't be able to look at them without remembering what it's like to be inside me.”

Pitch gazes at them. “I think you've doomed me to getting instantly hard every time I look at my own arms.”

Jack's laugh is muffled when Pitch kisses him, soft and sweet and slow. They lie there, tangled up in each other, just smiling and _happy_. Jack winces when Pitch pulls out of him.

“I'll clean you up; I'll look after you,” Pitch promises, and Jack knows that there is so much more than just wiping him clean. He goes to the bathroom and returns with a warm, wet towel. When Jack shifts he gasps, partly from the ache inside him but mostly because he can feel Pitch's seed trickle out of him. He looks at Pitch with wide eyes, but Pitch only smiles softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Mine,” he says.

“Yours,” Jack whispers as Pitch cleans him up. “Yours,” he says, and means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you SO MUCH to everyone commenting and leaving kudos on this fic. I'm sorry for the delay in the last few parts, thank you so so much for sticking with me <3 
> 
> I wrote a couple of ficlets over on tumblr: an [Amber/Onyx ficlet](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/61062421298/amber-onyx-ficlet), a ficlet of [Pitch singing for Jack](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/60792069672/im-having-an-absolutely-hellacious-month-only-nine), and a [Pitch POV of chapter 7](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/61443886025/pitch-pov-chapter-7-i-found-a-ficlet-i-wrote) :)


	13. Chapter 13

Jack is on his knees at Pitch's side, comfortable in a nest of cushions.

Pitch is having breakfast with the Fintish ambassador from Iscadin. He asked if Jack would be willing to do this for him, as a show of his power. Jack had agreed, eager for an opportunity to listen in to some of these political discussions.

It's less interesting than he had hoped.

They're in one of the reception rooms on the ground floor of the palace, with a low fire flickering in the hearth and sunlight streaming through the open windows. The warmth is making Jack sleepy, and the conversation isn't helping. He has little idea what either one of them is talking about, though the way Pitch interacts with the ambassador is fascinating. He's being extraordinarily pleasant and polite, voice soft, words full of flattery, apologising when he refuses to make concessions. He is refusing to bow to any demands from the ambassador, but he's being so _nice_ about it that he's starting to sway the discussion towards his own viewpoint. The ambassador, of course, is a veteran and very good at what he does - but Pitch is better. Whenever the ambassador tries to bring the conversation back to his own demands Pitch gently rebuffs him. Slowly, step by step, the ambassador is being pushed backwards, exactly where Pitch wants him. Jack is impressed.

As they discuss the finer points of the meeting in Blenkeld, Jack's mind starts to wander. Pitch has – reluctantly – agreed to let Jack go to Blenkeld with him. The promise of sex in another bed was too enticing - and not only to Pitch. Jack's excited to see the city, too. Amber has told him how different it is to Iscadin. It’s a border city on the edges of the great badlands, a place of sand and rock with buildings cut into sandy cliff faces, and dunes, and strange plants dotting the landscape. He and Amber have already planned trips to see them; now all they have to do is get Pitch to agree to it.

Pitch tugs on Jack's leash lightly to get his attention, and when Jack looks up he sees Pitch pluck a grape from the bunch on the table. The ambassador is still talking and Pitch is clearly as bored as Jack.

When he feeds him the grape, Jack lets his tongue dart out against his fingers. Jack can feel Pitch's thigh tense where it rests against his shoulder. When Pitch glances down, Jack responds with a wide and mischievous grin. Pitch has to force his attention back to the ambassador, but his hand is still tight around Jack's leash.

There is more discussion and the more feeding of grapes. From his seated position Jack can see that Pitch is hard in his trousers, the outline of his cock clear against the fabric. He wants to touch, to taste. Just the sight of it is enough to get Jack hard, and his thoughts are full of what they will do when the meeting ends.

The ambassador pushes some papers over to Pitch, who moves his hand away from Jack to leaf through them. When Jack glances up he is startled to see the ambassador looking at him with a lecherous twist of a smile. The gaze lingers on his body like an unwelcome touch, and the hairs on the back of Jack’s neck rise. 

His gaze jumps to Jack’s and his smile is oily, but Jack looks back coldly. The smugness in the ambassador’s face wavers, and Jack cools the air in the room; enough that Pitch is warm enough in his velvet doublet, but the ambassador is uncomfortably cold in his thin shirt. The man gets the message and his gaze drops. Considering the battle won, Jack feels a grim sense of victory, but mostly he just wants the man gone. 

After Pitch hands the papers back, he tries to feed Jack another grape, but the ambassador’s lechery has stolen the fun from it and Jack leans away. When Pitch flashes a concerned look at him, Jack manages half a smile. Pitch’s frown deepens, and he takes Jack’s hand before turning back to the ambassador. He loses a little of his niceness, and though his words remain pleasant there’s a dagger hidden in them.

The ambassador seems to have lost his taste for argument, and gives in to Pitch’s demands. 

It isn’t long until he leaves, and Jack sighs his relief. 

"What’s the matter?" Pitch asks as soon as the door is shut, turning in his seat to take both of Jack’s hands. 

"Nothing, really. I just didn’t like that ambassador very much." Pushing himself up, Jack settles in Pitch’s lap, pressing their foreheads together and letting the touch calm him. 

"What did he do?" Pitch pulls back sharply to look at Jack, the beginnings of fury flickering in his eyes. 

"It doesn’t matter," Jack says with a shrug, eager to forget the whole thing. "I handled it."

"I noticed that you made it colder. But I wish I’d noticed _him_."

Jack laughs. "It’s probably for the best you didn’t. You’d probably have overreacted."

"Me? Overreact? Surely you’re thinking of someone else."

"Surely," Jack says with a grin and leans in for a kiss. It starts slow, and Jack realises that Pitch is letting him lead. Licking, biting, exploring, Jack can feel the slight pull on his collar from where Pitch still holds the leash tightly, and he licks against Pitch's tongue.

"I've missed this," Jack says, running his hand over the leash.

"I’d be delighted to use it more often, if you like."

"I like that you trust me enough not to use it, too."

Pitch laughs and leans in for another kiss that quickly deepens. Jack remembers his earlier thoughts and the want comes surging back. 

"I want to taste you," Jack says, pressing his hand to Pitch's cock and squeezing gently. 

Pitch blinks and then smiles widely. "Then please, Jack, don't let me stop you." He loosens his hold on Jack's leash to give him more room to move, and Jack slides to the floor, pushing Pitch’s legs wide. With both hands resting on the arms of his chair, Pitch looks down at Jack, waiting.

For a moment all Jack can do is look up at him, mouth dry and throat tight. A deep breath, and Jack puts a confident smile into place. And why not? He's been practicing and if the increasing volume of Pitch’s cries are any indication, he's gotten rather good at getting Pitch to come in his mouth.

A last flicker of nerves melt away when he unlaces the tie of Pitch's trews and pulls out his cock, overcome by a surge of desire.

Leaning in, he wraps a hand around the base to hold it steady. The heat of it makes him shiver, and he licks a wet line up the shaft before sliding his lips over the head. His head bobs as he works, taking a little more each time as he tries to improve on his previous attempts. Mere minutes in, Pitch is breathless, gasping, and Jack feels a spike of excitement; if Pitch is close to coming, this will be the quickest so far.

Knowing that Pitch is so close to coming makes Jacks cock throb, but he forces himself to concentrate. He sucks in his cheeks, uses his hands, looks up: all these things that he knows Pitch likes, that he knows feel good.

And then Pitch is coming on Jack's tongue, on his lips, a stifled cry filling the air. His chest is heaving as he tries to regain the breath that Jack's actions have stolen from him, and little earthquakes shake his limbs.

"Jack," Pitch whispers, looking down at him with lidded eyes. "You get better and better at that each time."

Tugging on the leash, he pulls Jack back up onto his lap. He reaches down to pull aside Jack's gossamer robe and withdraws Jack's cock, hard and aching and already slick.

"You like the taste of me, don't you?" Pitch asks as he starts to stroke Jack's cock, firm and fast, and Jack is drowning in pleasure in seconds.

"I love it," he whispers, resting his hands on Pitch's shoulders, squeezing as the pleasure hitches a notch. "The weight of it on my tongue - and knowing that it's _y-you_ -" he cries out as Pitch increases speed and pressure both and words are lost to him.

When he comes he finds that he couldn't care less if the guards outside can hear him.

===

Activity in the palace increases.

The trip to Blenkeld is an important event, and a long one, and both of those require a lot of planning. Jack just wants to _go_.

Since the palace is busy and tempers are short, Jack and Kal are outside. Walking at the edge of the forest, Jack kicks at the piles of fire-coloured leaves in his awkward boots.

"If I really try, though, I think Jethryn will dim the binding again soon."

"Really?" Kal looks doubtful.

"I've been working hard, and he keeps saying how impressed he is. It's been two weeks already-"

"Yes, but do you have complete control over the magic that's been unbound?"

A blush heats Jack's cheeks. Whenever Pitch makes him come, he inevitably spills ice as well as his seed. At first he tried to keep his hands off Pitch, but then Pitch whispered that he liked it, that physical proof of making Jack lose all control. And so each climax results in Pitch bearing frost markings of his own.

"Not _complete_."

"There you have it. You underestimate people who are nice to you, Jack. Jethryn is a good man, but he’s no pushover."

Jack groans and concentrates on a pile of fallen leaves, making them dance in a small, colourful whirlwind. "I just want more," he says quietly. "I feel like I'm straining at the bit. I don't want to be bound." Jack pauses. "Not like that, anyway."

Kal grins. "I thought those were rope marks on your arms."

Jack glares at him and picks up a nearby fallen branch and raps him in the shoulder with it. "Less cheek, Kal, or I’ll have to teach you a lesson."

"If you that’s how you want it, you better be ready to lose," Kal says with a grin, picking up a branch of his own and stepping into a fighting pose.

Jack cocks an eyebrow, letting his left foot slide back and bending his knees. Bringing his stick in front of him, he grins. "You might be surprised," he says, and steps forward to attack. Kal laughs and parries his thrust before coming in for an attack of his own.

The fight doesn't last long - they're both laughing too much - but it's _fun_.

When Kal gets past his guard, jabbing him lightly in the stomach, Jack staggers back dramatically until his back is up against a tree.

"You got me!" He puts the back of his hand to his forehead and slides down the trunk. "Oh, cruel fate!"

"It's nothing to do with fate, it's pure talent," Kal says, putting his stick sword over his shoulder with a cocky smile.

Jack surges to his feet and jabs at Kal's chest. Kal steps back, open mouthed.

"You cheater!"

"It's not cheating, it's pure talent." 

"Oh, that's it, prepare yourself Jack-"

The blast of a horn rips through the air, grabbing their attention.

"Lord Tarr must have arrived," Kal says, turning back to the palace and shielding his eyes against the sun. "He always likes to make an entrance."

"Can we go and see?"

Kal looks thoughtful for a moment and then breaks into a grin. "The west turret looks down over the main doors, we should be able to see everything from there."

Jack looks up at the palace and for a moment he's filled with the reckless urge to carry them on the wind. Instead he races Kal to the palace, laughing up the curving staircase and barring each other’s way with their stick-swords. Jack reaches the top and pushes through the door first, and turns to declare his victory. 

But the wind-

It’s _strong_ up here, stronger than he's ever felt it and it drowns out everything else. Half closing his eyes he connects with it, not entirely willingly, feels his feet lift off the stone floor-

And then a tug on his robe. Startled, he blinks, coming out of his half-trance to see Kal looking up at him with wide eyes, hand curled in Jack's robe.

"I don't think you should be doing that so high up," he says in a thin voice. "Maybe we shouldn't have come here."

"No," Jack says quickly, pushing on the wind to make it drop him. "It's alright. I'm in control."

Kal frowns as if he doesn't quite believe him. Jack's not sure he believes himself.

Again the horn bellows out, closer now. Stepping closer to the parapet and keeping a tight rein on his magic, Jack sees that Tarr's company are a sight to behold. When Jack went to Iscadin with Pitch, it was a low-key affair. No fanfare and no flying of the colours, the grand carriage was the only indication that the king was travelling.

Lord Tarr has banners and pennants that flutter in the wind, blue with some kind of yellow bird, wings outstretched. The bright colours are such a change from the usual blacks and golds of Umbra that it seems almost childish, gaudy.

There are fifteen people, all ahorse, and they approach the steps to the palace slowly. Onyx stands on the steps, waiting, shifting her stance impatiently. When finally her father finally drops down from his horse, he embraces her and she returns it stiffly. She gestures at the door and Lord Tarr nods, waving his entourage to him before they finally go into the palace.

"Does Onyx not get along with her father?" Jack asks, glancing at Kal, who shrugs.

"I think they're just very different people. She's so serious and he's – well, not. Don't misunderstand me: he was a fearsome war general, and he protects the north well, but he's a little - extravagant. I think that annoys her."

Jack knows all about not getting along with one’s father, and his lips thin. "Let's go back into the forest," he says to Kal. "I want to see that stone circle you were telling me about."

Perhaps one day he will have to think about his father, but not when there are so many wonderful distractions in the world.

===

It's been three days since Tarr and his people arrived. Pitch's days have been full of meetings, and Jack and Kal's days have been full of sneaking around the palace trying to eavesdrop. It was a good plan until Alden found them. He admonished them in an angry whisper, rolling his eyes at Kal’s insincere hurt expression.

Jack hadn’t understood much of what they overheard, and even Kal’s explanations failed to clear up his confusion. As much as Pitch dislikes politics, he is good at it; Jack counts himself lucky that as a courtesan, he needn't bother himself with it.

He's in his own rooms now, lounging on his sofa on the balcony. Kal will be collecting him shortly to escort him to a feast that Lord Tarr is hosting. 

Amber designed an outfit just for the occasion, fashioned in the northern style, but still clearly a courtesan's robe. Soft creamy fabric drops to the floor, slit up either side to show black trews. A fur-edged sash is draped across his body, tucked into a thick leather belt. It's different, to be sure, but Jack rather likes it. Tilting his head, he smiles. It makes him look roguish. Pirate-like. All he needs is a scar and he's set.

She left quickly, wanting to spend the evening with Onyx. While Amber will be going to Blenkeld to dress Pitch, Onyx is staying to rule in Pitch's stead. They could be apart for up to a fortnight, and Jack doesn't envy them that.

Jack shifts on his sofa, fidgeting with the fur trim. The main purpose of this feast is to allow those of Selenan descent to meet him, and though Jack has his concerns about that, his curiosity overrides it. How similar are they to people in Lunanoff? Which of their cultures is most similar to Selena? He's curious as to their reactions to him, too, even if they are negative. Will they think of him as looking like King Jokul? As the moon god? Or as a prince of Lunanoff, or as a courtesan? He’s not even sure what he would like best - they’re all so limiting, tiny facets that don’t even begin to describe the whole. Perhaps he can show them something of the real Jack. 

There's a knock at the door, and then Kal comes in, bereft of his usual smile. Jack is startled to see him not in a tunic but in leather armour, a shortsword by his side.

"Before we go, I want to tell you that the king has asked me to guard you well," Kal says, and Jack's eyebrows raise.

"But Tarr is his warden of the north. Surely he trusts him."

"Tarr was warden of the north before the king was crowned, but Pitch allowed him to keep his position - he knows Tarr well and trusts him. But some of these others he knows only by name. They're here only because they are powerful journey mages. I'll be by your side at all times."

"Are you trying to make me nervous?"

"I'm just trying to make you aware," Kal says with a shrug. "The king will be there as well as myself and the guards. Even if someone did try to hurt you, we'd stop them before they were within ten feet of you."

Jack has no response other than a nod. Pitch’s usual overprotectiveness? Or something more? His concerns about meeting the Selenans spark into life again, and they flap at him all the way to the state room. But when he sees Pitch waiting for them, hands on hips and clearly annoyed, he smiles.

"Are we late?" He rises onto tiptoes to kiss Pitch in greeting.

"Yes," Pitch says, but returns the kiss. "Kal, you are to stay by Jack's side at all times, is that clear?"

"Yes, your highness."

"Ready?"

Jack nods, and Pitch pushes open the door.

The first thing that Jack notices is that the room is _warm_ , uncomfortably so. A fire roars in the hearth, huge and hungry, and many candles sit on tables and windowsills. In his thick leather armour, Kal is obviously too warm, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. When Jack cools the air around them he throws Jack a grateful smile. Pitch's expression is neutral, but a touch to the small of Jack's back shows his gratitude.

The room is clad in Tarr’s colours, that yellow bird on a field of dark blue. This close Jack can see the bird's ferocious beak and sharp claws. Furs are draped over every chair, a huge tapestry hung on one wall, and the normally understated palace is almost unrecognisable.

Chatter in the room breaks off, and there's a flutter of curtsies and bows towards Pitch.

Tarr comes up to them with a wide smile. "Ah, our guests of honour! Jack, Pitch, welcome. Please, come take your seats."

When they arrive at the top table, a servant brings over tankards of ale for Pitch and Jack, not looking at either of them and bowing awkwardly before scurrying away. They sit, but Kal remains standing, stiff and silent by Jack’s side. 

Looking out at the crowd, Jack sees the highest concentration of lowborn Umbrans since he arrived on the planet, and all of them are staring at Jack and Pitch. Although they’re not just Umbrans: all of them are of Selenan heritage. There are fewer of them than arrived a few days ago; Jack wonders where they are.

Tarr looks out at the crowd with a wide smile and claps Pitch on the shoulder.

"We're graced by the presence of the king and his courtesan," he booms. "We'll have a busy day tomorrow but tonight we feast! We'll show these fancy southerners – and this moon prince – a real party!"

"My thanks for the invitation to the feast, and for your assistance with the journey to Blenkeld," Pitch says. "The kindness and generosity of the north is well known throughout Umbra, even to this _fancy southerner_. To you and yours." He raises the tankard and so do the northerners.

With an echoing cry of _to you and yours!_ they drink deep. Jack joins them, taking a gulp of the hoppy ale.

"Now!" Tarr claps his hands together. "Before the food is served, we would like to present you both with gifts. As my journey mages are of Selenan ancestry, they wished to show their respects to Jack, and brought a little something for him. But of course there is a gift for you as well, Pitch - it wouldn't do to give the courtesan a gift with nothing for the king!"

Tarr waves up one of the men from the main table, who approaches and bows deeply to the king.

"Lord Tarr had the greatest bladesmith in the north design a blade fitting for our king. Many hours were spent over the anvil, shaping the finest steel. For you, King Pitch."

Getting to his knees, he lifts up a sword, well-wrapped in black fabric. Pitch takes it from him and lays it on the table, deftly unwrapping it. It is long, fitting for Pitch's height, and the scabbard is leather and bronze. Pitch’s fingers wrap around the hilt and he draws it. Firelight flashes on the blade, and unfamiliar sigils spill down the fuller. 

As Pitch tests the weight of it, Jack decides that Pitch is very attractive with a sword in his hand, and wonders if he would give him some fencing lessons. Fencing lessons that would no doubt end with Jack on his back beneath Pitch and their clothes scattered on the floor; the best kind of lesson. 

"Thank you," Pitch says, sheathing the sword. "This is a very fine blade. I would be honoured to wear this by my side. My compliments to the smith."

"And now Jack’s gift," Tarr says, beckoning a girl forward. She gets to her feet and walks slowly forward, her green eyes wide and focused on Jack.

"P-Prince Jackson-"

"Not a prince, and not Jackson," he says. "Call me Jack."

She nods, and lifts her hands. In them, Jack sees a large bed of milky crystal spikes. "I was going to put this in the temple, as a gift for the moon god, but when I found out we would be meeting you-" she pauses and swallows, her smile wavering. "You look so much like him," she adds in a whisper, and drops to one knee, bowing her head and offering him the crystal in outstretched hands.

For a moment, Jack can only gape. He has looked like the moon god all his life, but he has never been treated like him before. He has no idea to react; he isn’t even sure how he feels. Awed? Humbled? Mostly just surprised. He glances at Pitch, who looks bemused. 

Turning back to the girl, Jack smiles at her, trying to calm her nerves. "I’m not a god, either. For a start, I think a god would be less perplexed by people worshipping him."

There are a few chuckles in the room; most people don’t seem to share the girl’s mindset. 

He takes the crystal from her, thanking her, and after giving him an awkward curtsy, she takes her seat again.

"We will have more gifts for Jack when he is formally presented as courtesan, of course," Tarr says. "But for now I hope you’ll accept this small gift. As well as being sacred to the moon god, it’s prized for its use in healing and relaxation; when I heard about your recent illness, I knew it would be perfect for you. But now! This wouldn’t be a feast without some music. Luckily two of our journey mages are also excellent musicians, and they’d like to play for you and the king." 

As a man and a woman move to the back of the room, taking string instruments from their cases, Pitch reaches over and takes Jack’s hand a little more tightly than normal. 

"Is everything okay?" Jack asks.

"I’m not sure if I approve of other people worshipping you," Pitch murmurs, frowning at the young girl who is still throwing wide-eyed glances up at Jack. 

"She doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s just a kid."

"Still. I should be the only one to worship you."

Jack laughs and shifts a little closer to Pitch to whisper, "If it makes you feel any better, I _much_ prefer your form of worship."

Tarr starts to explain the song the musicians are to play when the door opens. It's Onyx, and her expression is flustered. Striding in, she nods a greeting at her father and a smile to Jack before turning her attention to Pitch.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, your highness, but I need to speak to you as a matter of urgency. It will only take a few minutes, but it's regarding tomorrow."

Pitch's gaze slides to Jack and then around the room, frowning at the northerners.

"Go," Jack says. "She said it won't take long. It’ll be fine."

Pitch opens his mouth but clearly doesn't wish to say anything more with Tarr listening in. "Very well." He picks up the sword and looks over at Kal. "Jack's safety is in your hands," he says very seriously.

Kal nods sharply, his face carefully blank. "Yes, your highness."

"Well!" Tarr says, frowning as Pitch follows Onyx outside. He turns to Jack with a tight smile. "Perhaps you would be willing to give us a show while we wait, Jack?"

"A show?"

"As much as we’re used to ice in the north, a display of ice magic would still be a treat. You know, surely, how important ice mages are in Selenan folklore."

Jack pauses, thinking of the Ice War that Pitch mentioned; it doesn’t seem to him that ice mages are as beloved as all that. 

"Just a little something," Tarr says. "A special treat for us, hmm? I know we would all enjoy it."

"Please, Jack!" That’s a man at the front of the room, and the cry is taken up by others. All of them look up at him, smiling and earnest. Jack glances up at Kal, who smiles and gives a one-shouldered shrug. 

"Do it if you want to," he says. "Why not take the opportunity to show off a little?"

Jack looks from him to the eager audience, and his lips fall into a crooked grin. "Alright, alright," he says, lifting both hands in surrender. "I can show you some magic. Just a little, though - I don't think the king would be too happy if I made one of his state rooms into a glacier."

To the tune of delighted laughter, Jack stands and puts a hand to the wall behind them. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, partly to connect with the air and partly to build the suspense.

He glances over at Tarr and is startled to see him sit forward, watching with fierce concentration, like whatever Jack does now is vitally important. It’s so at odds with Tarr’s usual constant smile that it makes Jack feel off balance. 

But when he turns his gaze out at the crowd, all of them are looking up at him with smiles and excitement. He feels the familiar delight of being the centre of attention - but of being in _control_ of the situation. That’s what’s been missing in the autumn festival and with palace gossip, he realises.

With a grin, Jack lets ice spill out over the wall. He doesn't try to shape it; he's been practicing that with Jethryn but is not yet confident. Instead he lets it take whatever shape it will, and is delighted to see it curl into fronds, echoing his markings. His reach is only ten feet or so, but it covers that part of the wall like a piece of art.

He turns back to see everyone in the room, even Tarr, staring and awestruck. Jack remembers this feeling; remembers running on the rooftops casting colours on the Dome, remembers admiring looks and cheers. He grins and takes an exaggerated bow, and the room bursts into applause.

The door swings open and Pitch pauses in the doorway, looking at Jack's frost. Taking his place by Jack's side, he kisses his temple. "That's beautiful, Jack. Although it looks like I missed a little something."

"Just a little."

"Good to have you back, your highness," Tarr says, the intensity gone or imagined. "I hope my daughter didn’t bring you bad news?"

"Nothing that need disturb the feast. Apologies for making you wait."

"Not at all, not at all. But now that you’re back, let the feast begin!"

Soon the room is filled with the bustle of serving, of chatter and the clanging of pots. The musicians start up their song, a jaunty tune somewhat drowned out all the other noise. 

"So what _did_ Onyx want?" Jack asks. "Is everything okay?"

Pitch glances at Jack and then sighs, taking his hand where it rests on the table. "I'll tell you later."

Jack frowns, annoyed at being fobbed off; he'll make sure he _is_ told later.

The food is plentiful and delicious, and the ale even more so. There is a song of a heroic northern knight battling a dragon, and a display of magic, making a paper doll dance. It’s little more than a parlour trick, and Jack’s pleased to hear whispers that they preferred his own show.

When the fire is getting low, Lord Tarr calls an end to the feast, regretting that it can’t go on until dawn like a traditional northern feast. They say their thanks and goodbyes.

Out in the hallway, Pitch dismisses Kal, who gives a bow to Pitch and a grin to Jack before taking his leave.

Pitch entwines his fingers with Jack's and they start their walk to Pitch's rooms.

"So what did Onyx say?"

Pitch looks down at him and smiles. "Persistent, aren't you?" His smile drops and he sighs. "There have been some border skirmishes near Blenkeld. Being that the Fintish king is already on his way, there's no way of delaying the meeting; in any case we need to meet now or the tides will be too rough to make the sail should we agree to come to their defence."

"Do you think those attacks are because of the Fintish king's visit? Or yours?"

"Perhaps, but probably not. They happen at least once a year. We've increased the guard but still - I don't want you to come."

"What? But I was looking forward to it so much." Jack stops, heart sinking. Does Pitch not _want_ him to go? Two weeks is so long to be apart, too long. Anxiety starts to whisper in Jack’s ear, _what if his passions cool while we’re apart_. He knows how unlikely that is, he _knows_ , but it doesn’t stop the whispering doubts. "I don’t want to be away from you for so long. Do you?"

"Of course not. But it isn't safe, Jack. As loathe as I am to be away from you, I'd much rather that than put you at risk."

Jack sulks all the way to Pitch's chambers, but it's clear that Pitch isn't going to change his mind.

"I'll try to be home as soon as I can," Pitch says, taking the metal circlet from Jack's head and putting it on the dresser. He kisses him tenderly, and Jack's annoyance melts under the sweetness of it.

"You better," he grumbles, and pulls Pitch to their bed.

===

Jack wakes, sudden but easy. Something pulls at him like a sweet song. It's not music though, it's a _feeling_ , like his connection to the wind but more so.

He pushes to his feet, careful not to wake Pitch, and pads softly over to the window. Pulling at the gap in the curtains, instantly he sees what woke him.

The half-dark world of early morning is covered in white. Snow blankets the ground, the trees, the walls. Large flakes drift down, elegant and unhurried.

For a moment all Jack can do is stare, joy and wonder dawning in him.

He closes his eyes, tries to connect with the snow. It's not like the wind; where the wind is playful and full of movement, the snow is serene and still, and it makes a deep peace settle in Jack.

Jack hears Pitch's footsteps, whispers in the shadows. Pitch steps close to him, pressing himself against Jack's back. He wraps the blanket draped over his shoulders over Jack, too, his arms around his waist.

"What are you doing?"

"I - felt something. And when I came to the window it was snowing."

"Felt something?"

"I don't know. Like - something important was happening. Foolish, I know."

"Not really. Your magic is centred on ice and snow. Even though the collar still binds most of your magic, any inherent abilities - including not minding cold - won't be affected."

Since he's never seen snow before Jack can't say he's ever experienced quite this feeling. But it's a beautiful thing to watch the snow fall with Pitch's arms around him.

"Can we go outside?" Jack asks, leaning deeper into Pitch's embrace.

"Outside?"

"To my garden, maybe. You're going away tomorrow-" _and not taking me with you_ "-so it might be our only chance to enjoy the snow together."

"Trust me, Jack, there'll be many more chances. This is only the first of the snows."

"Yes," Jack says, turning around in Pitch's arms to look up at him. "And first times are special."

Pitch pauses and then then the corner of his lip twitches upwards. "And the second and sixth and tenth, I should hope."

Jack grins. "Mmm, the eighth time was particularly special. But you know what I mean. Please, Pitch."

With a sigh, Pitch gives in and nods. Jack throws his arms around Pitch's neck and kisses him soundly. When he pulls back he goes to the dressing room to pull on trews and blue-and-silver tunic.

"If we're going out in the snow you're wearing more than that," Pitch says as he dresses.

"But-"

"This is not something I'll give way on."

A blue cloak with delicate frost-like embroidery is handed to him, along with a pair of boots. Jack frowns at them, but that's not so bad as payment for a walk in the snow with his king.

When they step out into the corridor the guards startle to a salute with a metallic clatter. "Your highness?"

"We're going for a walk," Pitch says, as though walks in the dark hours of a snowy morning are entirely normal.

"W-would you like a guard?"

"No."

Jack is grateful - he doesn't want anyone else's presence to spoil this. This is _their_ moment.

When they step outside, the world is more silent than anything Jack's ever known. The air is alive with snow, falling in thick flakes that meander slowly downward. Everything is covered in a pristine white blanket. For a moment Jack just looks out at it.

Snow.

Snow!

He steps forward, feels the give under his boot. It's so soft, almost like nothing at all, and his foot sinks in effortlessly. He crouches and scoops up a handful, letting it fall through his fingers.

There's no room in him for anything but joy and he laughs, looking up at Pitch. Snowflakes are splashes of white in his hair, on his cloak, and his smile is so soft, so gentle. For a moment Jack feels like his heart is being squeezed, in a good way.

When they arrive at the garden and Pitch takes out the key, Jack looks back at the way they came. There is nothing but the dim light of dawn and the cold quiet of snow. It feels like something secret, like this early morning world is just for them.

The lock clicks open and they step into the garden. Just a few months ago it was so colourful but now everything is covered in white, save for a few bare branches peeking through the snow.

Jack grins at the unbroken snow and runs forward, laughing as he breaks through, leaving a zig zag of footprints behind him.

Stomping into a pile of snow banked up against the wall, Jack's heart races and joy leaps in him. He flicks his fingers against a branch and watches the snow fall from it.

"I'm going to take my boots off," Jack says, bending over to undo the laces.

"Jack-"

"Just for a little while. I can put them on again later. "

He slides off the left boot first, and lets his foot rest lightly on the surface of the snow for a moment without breaking the surface. He feels the cold of it but there’s no discomfort. He feels snow between his toes and gives a delighted laugh. Hurriedly he takes off the other boot and runs again, this time feeling light and free. Hopping onto the bench, he closes his eyes and breathes deep, in and out, in and out. He lets his awareness spread out, taking in the snow. It makes him ache for more, and he feels the barrier of the collar most keenly. It's not like with the wind, a true interaction - he would need for the barrier to be lowered more, so that he could touch the clouds with his magic - but it's a connection, and it's beautiful.

"Jack?" Pitch's voice is close and concerned, and when Jack opens his eyes he sees that Pitch is standing beside the bench, looking up at him, the snow swirling around him. _He's_ beautiful too, and Jack smiles down at him. He's startled when his laugh comes out as a sob, and when he touches his cheeks he feels wetness there.

"I'm okay," he tells Pitch, and lifts a hand, summoning a little wind to capture a snowflake and send it towards Pitch. It land on his lips and he smiles. "It's just... I'm happy. Here, with you, in my garden in the snow. It's kind of perfect."

"It is," Pitch says softly, putting his hands to Jack's waist and lifting him. Jack yelps but stays still, allowing Pitch to lower him down.

When his feet are on the ground, Jack curls his hands in Pitch's cloak and pulls him backwards until his own back is up against a wall once covered in flowers. He grins up at Pitch.

"Familiar?"

"Intimately," Pitch says, fond, and kisses him. Jack's hands curl around the back of Pitch's neck, carding through the short hair at the base of his neck. Between kisses their frozen breath becomes one white cloud.

Pitch's tongue presses between Jack's lips; Jack's hands slide down Pitch's back to his ass, pressing him closer. He's so warm that it makes Jack feel like he's melting, or sinking.

He feels _relaxed_.

"I want you," he whispers. "I want you to make me come."

Pitch's chuckle rumbles against Jack's chest. "Do you now? Does the snow make you want me?"

"I _always_ want you."

A pause, just for a moment, when Pitch pulls back to look at Jack. Surprise in his eyes turns to golden heat and then Pitch is biting at Jack's lips, sharp little sparks of pain that make Jack shiver. When Jack bites back with gentle teasing nips, Pitch pulls on Jack's hair.

"Now, now," he purrs. "If we're doing this, we're doing it my way."

"Yes, my king," Jack says, partly because he knows Pitch likes it but mostly because he means it.

It has a distinct effect on Pitch as it always does, making want and affection blaze in his eyes, and making him lean in for a wet and heated kiss. Jack's hands knead the flesh of Pitch's buttocks. It makes Pitch's hips buck forward, his hard cock jutting into Jack's stomach.

"Less of that," he whispers between kisses, pressing one of Jack's hands, then the other, against the wall. Feeling a tug on his cuffs, Jack glances up to see a shadow wrapping around the ring of each, holding him firmly in place.

He moans, a broken and desperate. It feels so good to be bound. Already feeling so _right_ here in the snow with Pitch, knowing that Pitch likes it well enough to bind him here takes away his whispering worries about inconveniencing him. He lets the worries ebb away and smiles up at Pitch.

Pitch kisses him gently. "You're sure you're not cold?"

Jack nods, and Pitch gets to his knees.

"Oh," Jack whispers as Pitch looks up at him, as worshipful as the Selenan girl. But instead of worshipping him as a god or a prince, Pitch is worshipping him as a courtesan, as a man, as the difference is as vast as the sky.

Pitch pushes Jack's legs further apart, and a whisper over Jack's ankles makes him look down to see shadow wrapped around them. Bound wrist and ankle, completely at Pitch's mercy and completely safe, Jack feels all his scattered thoughts and feelings about meeting the Selenans, about being without Pitch for the next few weeks, everything just settles like snow, and Jack relaxes into his bonds. Pitch must see it, for he smiles and strokes Jack's side.

"That's good," he says. "Let me take care of you, Jack. I'll always take care of you."

"I know. I’m safe with you."

He watches as his king pushes Jack's trews down enough so that he can pull his cock out. Snow still swirls around them as Pitch slides his tongue along the shaft. The warmth of it is a sharp and delicious contrast to the cold.

Jack moans and closes his eyes, breathing in gulps of cold air as Pitch works, pulling Jack deeper and deeper into pleasure. Soon Jack is lost in it, everything melting away except Pitch and how good it feels to be with him. How good it feels to be wanted.

Pitch strokes Jack as he licks at him then takes the head into his mouth. He looks up and meets Jack’s eyes as he slides his lips down the shaft. His eyes so confident and in control, even in the submissive position, that Jack whimpers, shivering but not from the cold.

Sliding his other hand from where it rests on Jack's thigh, Pitch gently caresses Jack's balls, and the additional sensation is too much, too much.

Jack cries out into the morning as he comes in Pitch's mouth, pleasure washing him away until he's sagging in the restraints, whimpering as Pitch licks him carefully clean.

"You're so good, Jack," Pitch murmurs as he pushes to his feet. "You're always so good, just for me."

"For you." Jack's shaking voice is little is more than a hoarse whisper but he means it as much as he’s ever meant anything.

Pitch wraps his arms around Jack's waist, supporting him, before he lets the shadow restraints fade. Jack sags gratefully against him, holding him tightly, pressing his face against his chest. He still aches to think of the next few weeks without Pitch's touch, but knowing how wanted he is eases it a little.

Pitch is proud, and he would not get on his knees for just anyone, no matter how in control he is. It means something; it means a lot.

Jack smiles against Pitch's chest as he slowly comes down, sinking back into himself.

When he feels mostly back to normal, he lifts his head and grins.

"Now it's my turn," Jack says, reaching down between them to feel Pitch's cock, obviously hard even under thick cloak and trousers.

"As wonderful as that sounds, I'd much prefer to do it inside."

"Then you better get us back to your rooms, and quickly."

"It would be my pleasure," Pitch says, and leads him into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to leave comments, they make my day <3 And to those who leave kudos, or notes over on tumblr, THANK YOU! You're all so awesome and it keeps my writing (the slowness is entirely down to myself). 
> 
> Extra special awesome thanks go to [Impextoo](http://impextoo.tumblr.com/) for the beta, which improved this chapter IMMENSELY. 
> 
> And please make sure you check out my [fanart tag](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) because there's some new and GORGEOUS art that you absolutely need to see :3


	14. Chapter 14

Sleigh is Jack’s new favourite way to travel. 

It’s like flying without magic - well worth the hassle of wrapping up warm. They are on their way north, travelling to the town with the magic circle, Dun Dorus. Jack insisted that he come along for the journey. It gives him chance to spend more time with Pitch and to see a little more of Umbra.

Their journey began through the woods, silent and eerily bright with black branches exploding against a blue sky. When they broke through the remnants of the forest, the world was flat and relentlessly white. The rare tree or cottage seem startlingly out of place. They are the only ones in sight, the snow ahead as untouched as a blank canvas

Snowfall stopped hours ago and the clouds are sparse. The moon is a crescent hanging opposite a pale sun, and Jack frowns up at it. Already feeling the lonely weight of two weeks without Pitch, seeing the moon sparks his other lonelinesses. He misses Jamie. He misses Tooth, and North, and Bunny. Even after everything, he _misses_ them. He didn't have much in Lunanoff, but he aches for what he had. Nothing would make him give up his life in Umbra, but he wishes he could see them. 

He looks up at Pitch, who is frowning as he reads through notes about his meetings. He wears a greatcoat adorned with subtle embroidery, with epaulettes and small golden buttons. The boots are heavy and the overall effect is one of a military uniform, like Pitch is going into battle. The thought makes Jack uneasy and he reaches for Pitch's hand, as though that might keep him here, safe by Jack's side. After all, if Blenkeld is really so dangerous, it's dangerous for Pitch, too.

But he has his magic, and a shadow army is much more effective than a breeze or a smattering of frost.

Jack bites down on a sigh. He doesn’t want Pitch to go, for so many reasons. Pitch’s presence makes Jack feel safe; the way he looks at him makes him feel special. Gentle kisses, holding hands - that is what he’ll miss. 

Shifting closer to him, there’s a twinge in Jack’s thighs from the night before, when Pitch truly gave him something to remember him by. Jack smiles; he’ll miss that most of all. When he links their arms, Pitch looks up from his reading with a smile.

"You asked if you could journey to Dun Dorus by sleigh rather than shadows so that you could watch the world go by, so what's this?"

"I guess I find you more interesting to look at."

Pitch's snark melts into softness and he runs a finger down Jack's jawline. “I'm never sure if you're serious when you say things like that. I'll miss you, Jack.”

"So take me with you. I could be a show of power, like with the ambassador. That's one of my jobs, right? And another of my jobs - well, I'm sure your bed in Blenkeld is lonely for one person."

Even through all of the layers of clothing, Jack feels Pitch tense. His eyes dart to see Pitch looking coolly down at him. "Perhaps you'll enjoy these two weeks more than you think. Most people enjoy a vacation from work."

Jack’s eyes widen. "I - what?" What a stupid, _stupid_ thing to say, especially right before Pitch is going to leave him. He casts desperately around, trying to think of a way to explain. "I didn't mean it like that. That’s not - You're not work, Pitch."

Pitch's eyes are still cold. "Then what am I?"

 _Everything_.

The thought startles Jack, but the instant it comes to him, he knows it’s true. He tries to say it, but he can’t; it’s held back by fear. If he says it - if he shows that vulnerability and Pitch doesn’t forgive him- 

"You're my king,” he says quietly, quickly, taking Pitch’s hands willing him to see the truth in his words. “And I'm your courtesan. That's why I want to be with you."

Pitch frowns, but the coldness begins to thaw. His thumb strokes the back of Jack’s hand. “And - you don’t think of being with me as your job?”

“Of course not,” Jack says quickly, squeezing Pitch’s hands. “Not at all. I just- I love it. I especially loved last night,” he adds, and that summons a twitch of a smile. “So is that a yes? I can come with you?”

A moment ticks by and Pitch’s smile warms, melting the last of the frown. With a sigh, he combs his fingers through Jack's hair. "You truly are persistent,” he says. “You would be a very valuable show of power, but I weighed that up against the danger and decided it wasn't worth the risk. As much as we need the Fintish minerals, they need our money. I don't think their terms will be too far fetched."

"So why will it take two weeks?"

"Hopefully it won't, but the Fintish can't let themselves be seen to giving in easily to my demands - nor can I be seen to be pandering to them."

Jack makes a face. "Can't you do that - I don't know, _quickly_?"

"I will try. In any case, we'll arrive at Dun Dorus soon. There'll be a brief departure ceremony first; once that is over, I'll take you back to the palace through the shadows."

Jack opens his mouth to try arguing again about how Pitch should take him to Blenkeld, but he is wary of pushing too hard; after his misstep, he’s afraid of saying something wrong. Instead he rests his head on Pitch's shoulder and watches the world go by.

After a while, a cluster of dark shapes with white caps breaks through the snow like a crowd of waking giants. As they get closer it becomes a town; closer still and Jack sees a crowd gathered to greet them, dressed warmly in cloaks and scarves. They're a mix of lowborn and highborn Umbrans, all of them pink-cheeked from the cold. The sleigh comes to a halt and Pitch clips the leash to Jack’s collar. Their eyes meet, and the warmth in Pitch’s slight smile eases the tension in Jack’s throat. 

There’s a pause as the others join them, having already arrived on sure-footed horses. Onyx stands by Jack’s side; a glance around finds Amber a few feet away from their party, clad in somber shades of brown and burnished gold. Kal takes his place just behind Jack, in his leather armour once again. Tarr pushes his way to Pitch’s side. Jack is startled by how extravagant his outfit is; if Pitch’s clothes make him look like a soldier about to face battle, Tarr’s make him look like he is attending a party. The garish pin in the shape of a bird; the flash of gold studs on leather gloves and boots - they seem out of place. Oblivious to Jack’s thoughts, Tarr beams at them. 

“Looks like I beat you here, your highness.”

“Indeed,” Pitch says. “In record time, no doubt.” 

“I’m not sure if I’d go _that_ far,” Tarr chuckles. “But perhaps.”

A herald in a golden cloak comes toward them with a scroll in his hand. Bowing deeply to Pitch, he calls out:

“His Royal Majesty, Lord of Shadows, and Ruler of Fear: King Pitch, the first of his name!”

A wave of bows and curtsies breaks through the crowd, and the herald continues: 

“Lord Tarr, Warden of the North and protector of the realm; and Lady Onyx of the North, the king’s chief advisor.” 

He rolls up his scroll and steps aside. A man with nervous smile and a large golden chain resting on a round belly comes forward, bowing jerkily to Pitch. 

"Your highness graces us with your presence. Dun Doras is always pleased-”

“Thank you, mayor. If you don’t mind, we’re in something of a hurry.”

“Of- of course. Aleksis is waiting with the other mages in the journey hall. Please, follow me."

“My mages are ready for the journey, Pitch,” Tarr says, hurrying to match his long strides. “And I'm ready to face the Fintish king with you – between the two of us, he won't put up much resistance.”

“We shall see about that,” Pitch says. “I don't think there'll be too much resistance but there'll be a lot of posturing.”

“Well, I can posture with the best of them,” Tarr says with a hearty laugh. 

As they walk, Jack sees curious eyes in windows, or people pausing in the street to watch their procession. The town is much smaller than Iscadin, and they approach the grandest building in town, a large building made of dark stone that stands out starkly against the snow.

The mayor takes them up the stairs fenced by tall, narrow columns. Large, black doors open with a flourish of his hand and he leads them into an vestibule where servants step forward to collect capes and cloaks. They go into a large hall, with tall windows that let in the sunlight. Together with the heat of a roaring fire in the hearth, it lends the illusion of a summer’s day.

Chatter fades away as they enter; everyone turns toward them curious expressions. Almost everyone is lowborn – Selenan, like the northerners – though their clothes are more like what Jack is used to seeing, black with clean lines and splashes of gold.

There is another wave of curtsies and bows, and a tall man too young for his white hair steps forward, looking intensely at Jack before bowing to Pitch.

"Welcome, your highness; your presence in Dun Dorus is always an honour."

"Thank you, Aleksis. I trust everything is ready for the journey?"

“Of course.” The man named Aleksis studies Jack for another moment and then breaks into a warm smile. “And you must be Jack. I've been looking forward to meeting you. I'm the leader of our journey mages here in Dun Doras - and I believe we are slightly related.”

“We are?” Jack blinks in surprise.

“King Jokul's cousin was ambassador to Iscadin during the war, and she is my ancestor.”

“I would hardly call that related,” Tarr huffs from Pitch's side, frowning deep wrinkles at Aleksis.

“We share only a little blood,” Aleksis says, indicating a tiny space between his finger and thumb, “But it is there. And family is important to me. If anyone messes with you, you come to me - I’ll take care of them.”

Jack laughs. “If anyone messed with me, I’m pretty sure the king would make them regret it fairly quickly.”

“You can rest assured that I would,” Pitch says, putting a hand to the small of Jack’s back. “Anyone who even considered it would regret it most deeply.”

Tarr excuses himself and bustles off to talk to his mages, and Jack once more finds himself the focus of Aleksis’s attention. 

"Would you like to see the journey circle, Jack?" Aleksis gestures at a door at the end of the hall.

Jack nods eagerly and turns to Pitch. "Is it okay?"

"Of course," Pitch says, touching the back of Jack's neck lightly and nodding at Kal. “Go with him.”

“Of course, your highness,” Kal says with a bow.

As Pitch unfastens Jack’s leash, Alden strides over with more papers in his hands; it looks like Jack has chosen a good time to escape.

Aleksis leads Jack through the doors into a large room. Light pouring through stained glass windows on three sides make the space an explosion of colour, like thrown confetti.

The circle takes up most of the room: two concentric circles with runes and sigils closely packed between them. Aleksis walks the edge of the circle, hands behind his back. Jack steals a look at him. He’d like to look like Aleksis when he's older, he thinks: strong and handsome, humour never far from his eyes, a smile always haunting his lips. And more than that, his aura of calm and control is something that Jack envies. 

“The sigils are carved into the floor,” Aleksis says, gesturing at them. “Each is filled with a substance to boost their power – metals, minerals, even herbs and spices. It helps us to focus – that is something that almost every Umbran mage needs, and even we of Selenan stock use such things for grand magic like journeying. And it comes together to create a thing of beauty, don't you think?”

“It’s lovely,” Jack agrees, crouching to look at it better. The sigils are all of the lunar language that has long been sacred to Selanans, and the runes are Umbran; he recognises them from his magic lessons with Jethryn. The circle is a true mix of Selenan and Umbran heritage.

A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts. 

A young woman steps into the room. Her eyes light curiously on Jack, and that’s nothing new; but when she looks at Kal, Jack could swear that a blush washes over her cheeks and she gives him a fluttering smile. 

“Aleksis, the king has asked to speak to you,” she says, tearing her attention away from Kal. 

He nods. “I’ve been telling Jack about the circle - would you answer his questions?”

“Of course.” As he leaves, she turns to them with a pretty smile. “I’m Rikka.”

“You’re a journey mage too?” Jack asks.

“Oh, no. I’m a farspeaker. I work with the journey mages - I help them communicate over long distances. I’m actually going to be coming back to the palace with another farspeaker - we’ll be helping the king and Lady Onyx stay in touch. Normally I live here in Dun Doras, so it will be lovely to see the palace. Do you live there?” She’s speaking to Kal, who blinks at her as though surprised to be addressed.

“I- I do. I’ve lived there most of my life.”

“It must be beautiful, and so close to Iscadin! I’ve only visited the capital once or twice - I’d love to go again.” 

“I’m sure you’ll be able to,” Kal says, glancing at Jack who has to bite his lip against a chuckle. “So- about the circle. I travelled that way once or twice when I was the king’s guard, but Jack would like to know more.”

Not the most subtle of subject changes, but Rikka nods. “Yes! There are circles dotted across Umbra. Farspeakers are the ones who carry messages so that everything is organised - the team at the destination circle need to be ready to catch the travellers, so everything needs to be timed perfectly.”

“Catch?”

“Yes. Like today: the mages at Dun Doras send the travellers to Langcott - that’s about halfway across Umbra, any journey across the country must stop there, as that’s the limit of the journey spells. When the mages here start the spell to send the travellers, the mages in Langcott will start the spell to catch them. Normally there is a stopover there - the journey mages need to rest before they can send them on. But with the northern journey mages with them, the king’s party will be able to travel onwards straightaway. A little convoluted, but it works.”

It seems so odd to Jack - none of the magical transport that he’s used needed someone at the destination, whether it was Bunny’s tunnels or the silver bridge itself. 

“But come,” Rikka says, opening the door. “The departure ceremony will begin shortly. Let’s go watch.”

As he steps out into the hall, Jack sees Pitch lean toward Aleksis and murmur something to him; when Aleksis smiles, their eyes meet, and Jack frowns. Pitch is more comfortable with Aleksis than Jack’s seen him with almost anyone. There’s an easy camaraderie - a chemistry that Jack isn’t sure he likes. Little sparks of jealousy bloom inside him, and even when he’s back at Pitch’s side, leash reattached, they don’t disappear entirely. He likes Aleksis well enough, he doesn’t like anyone else getting that kind of attention from Pitch.

The departure ceremony is simple enough; a small speech from Pitch and a procession through the hall to the circle room where each journey mage throws a handful of petals into the circle.

"They'll be starting the spell that opens the circle soon," Pitch says once the ceremony is over. "Let me take you back to the palace."

Jack nods. "Can I just say goodbye to Amber?"

"Of course."

She's standing close by Onyx's side, and they're talking softly, sharing smiles. 

"Ah- Pitch is going to take me back to the palace now," Jack says, feeling awkward at intruding on their moment. “So I wanted to say goodbye.”

Amber of course turns to him with a wide smile and a tight embrace. "Oh, I'll miss you, Jack! Make sure you wear something pretty while I'm gone to remember me by."

He laughs. "You're not going to be gone that long. Will Onyx wear pretty things too?"

"I hope so; I don’t want her to forget me."

Amber turns to kiss Onyx softly; she has to rise onto her tiptoes to do it. Jack isn't surprised that Amber doesn't care about their audience, but he is surprised that Onyx doesn't rebuke her. She glances around as if wondering if anyone is watching, but then she takes Amber's hand as though she's decided she doesn't care.

"I'll see you back at the palace," Onyx tells him. "When I return I'll come and see you."

Jack nods his agreement and turns to go back to Pitch. Before he reaches him, he is accosted by Lord Tarr, who greets him with a wily smile. 

“Now, Jack, did you think you could get away without saying farewell?”

“Ah - Of course not. Thank you for hosting the feast the other day. I hope I make it to the north soon so that I can see what it’s really like.”

“So do I! But now - you’re returning to the palace, yes?”

Jack nods. “Pitch is about to take me back.”

“Good, good. Safe journey, Jack.”

“You too.” Tarr holds his gaze a little longer than is comfortable, and after giving him a flustered smile, Jack turns to Pitch. 

"So is there a shadow room here?"

"No," Pitch says. "But we'll make do. Kal - take care of Onyx on the journey back to the palace.”

“Y-yes, your highness.” Kal’s eyes widen slightly and skip over to Onyx, just for a moment before turning back to Jack with a smile. “I’ll see you later.” 

Pitch leads Jack over to the other side of the hall. Darkness creeps up over most of the windows. It creates deep shadows on the opposite wall and without even breaking his step, Pitch walks through them.

The feeling is as odd as before, the world not so much spinning as bending, a great pressure that makes it hard to breathe.

It's a relief when they step out into the shadow room in the palace; he definitely preferred the sleigh.

"Would you like to go to my chambers, or your own?"

"Mine. I don’t think I’d like to stay in your rooms without you."

When they arrive at Jack's rooms, it's time to say goodbye. Jack swallows a sigh and interlaces their fingers. "I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you. But it's only two weeks, and I'll do my very best to ensure that we're done more quickly. I can't guarantee anything; these Fintish do like to talk."

"I'm sure since you have such a strong incentive, you'll do your best."

"Of course."

"And besides, we can still talk, sort of. Rikka said she’d be staying in the palace so you can communicate with Onyx. So we can communicate too-"

"From such a distance, communications will take a great deal of energy. It will only be in an emergency. Besides, most of what I'd want to tell you would not be the kind of thing I would want anyone else to hear."

"Oh yeah? Like how much you want me?" Jack asks, grinning and sliding his hands around Pitch's waist.

"Yes; but also that I love you."

Jack blinks up at him, feeling off balance. That's only the second time that Pitch has said that without being prompted. It makes Jack's heart ache and not entirely in a good way. To hear the words is wonderful, but that Pitch doesn’t want others to know… Is it just a matter of privacy? Or is there another reason? Could Pitch be embarrassed that he feels so strongly about a courtesan? Or does he just not love Jack enough to want other people to know? 

Jack pushes the thoughts clumsily away, knowing that he’s being dramatic, and leans in to rest his head against Pitch’s chest.

"Thank you," he whispers, aching, missing him already. He looks up and pulls Pitch down for a kiss. It threatens to get breathless, but Pitch gently pushes him away.

"Kal and Onyx will return soon. Have fun while I'm away, but do try not to get into too much trouble."

"I'll try," Jack says, but his grin says that he won't be trying _too_ hard.

But after a last brief kiss Pitch leaves, and nothing in Jack wants to smile.

===

It's the fifth day without Pitch, and Jack still feels the aching emptiness of the bed. 

After bathing he pulls on trews and a tunic, and misses Amber as he has every morning. If she was here she would tease him for being so sappy and heartsick, and she'd remind him that it will only be another week or so until Pitch will be home.

As it is he has only the nervous servant who brings him a breakfast of oatmeal and hot drinks, and he won't even look at Jack.

Still, it's nice to sit out on the balcony as he eats. Fresh snow fell yesterday and a new white blanket covers the grounds. In the distance he hears laughter and he stands, curious to see who it is. 

Halfway towards the trees, a couple of children are playing in the snow. One of them ducks into a crouch and scoops up a handful of snow, pats it in his hands and throws it at his friend. The friend squawks and throws snow of their own. They run with breathless laughter, pelting snow at each other and Jack wants to run down to join their fun and ask how to make the snowballs.

A knock of the door pulls him back to reality.

Pushing up from the sofa, he goes into the room to see Onyx enter. Unlike Jack, Amber's absence hasn't changed the way she dresses: her usual tailored trousers with a fitted jacket, black-on-black.

"Good morning," she says. "You slept well?"

"Well enough," Jack says, playing with his dreamsand pendant. ""It's strange to see you without Pitch or Amber." 

"It's strange to be without them. When I last left her alone for any length of time, the next time I saw her she was missing an eye," Onyx says, with a frown. "I know Pitch won't let anything happen to her, but I'm worried about him as well." She shakes her head, and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

"You don't think anything will happen, do you?"

"No. Umbra is Fintan’s major trading partner; they couldn't afford to anger us. As for the border skirmishes - they could be dangerous but Pitch and Amber will be safe within the walls of the royal residence. Being near the border it has almost as many precautions as the palace does - high walls, magical barriers on the grounds and the building, and then there are the guards, not to mention Pitch himself - and Amber too. She still trains every day, and-" realising that she's been rambling, her mouth snaps shut. "They'll be fine."

"They will,” Jack agrees, but somehow Onyx’s listing the security of the residence only increases his worry. There must be reason it has such protection - the danger must be very real.

Onyx's gaze drops to the ground for a moment, and then she looks up with a smile that’s only a little tight. "Our pretty blonde farspeaker asked to go into Iscadin with Kal. I'll accompany you anywhere you wish to go."

"I'd've liked to go into Iscadin."

"I'm sure you would; I'm also sure Pitch wouldn't approve."

"Oh, so you're continuing his over-protectiveness in his absence?"

"Yes," Onyx says with the driest of smiles. “But also, I rather think Kal would like a little privacy with Rikka.”

Jack opens his mouth and then closes it again. “Huh,” he manages, feeling a jolt of annoyance at being cast off in favour of a pretty face. Lacking anything else to say, he steps out onto the balcony to finish his breakfast. Onyx follows him, not giving any indication that she's cold, though she must be. When Jack invites her to take anything she wants, she pours herself a cup of berry tea and holds it tightly, warming her fingers.

"I'd like to go outside," he says. "Do you think the lake's frozen over?"

"Perhaps; it's more likely that the ponds near the festival square have. I'll take you, if you'd like to see. I have the morning free."

"Sure."

She makes him wear boots and a cloak, and Jack is fairly certain that she has orders from Pitch. Kal has, too, if his awkward insistence on layers and shoes over the past few days is anything to judge by.

Still, Jack doesn't mind so much, because he has a plan. So he goes along without too much grumbling, though the embroidered snowflakes on the cloak make him miss Amber suddenly and fiercely.

She'd approve of his plan, though; of that he's sure.

The instant they're outside, Jack itches to take off the boots and run barefoot through the snow.

The stairs have been cleared of snow, as has the path. He steps off the path and onto the snow, and smiles at Onyx.

She smiles back and follows him, sinking in halfway up her booted calf.

"You seem so happy to finally see snow," she says.

"Yeah," he says. "I am."

"Considering how happy you were to see rain; at least this time I'm not getting soaked while trying to avoid looking at the two of you.”

He laughs and drops into a crouch, letting his fingers skim over the top of the snow. "Yeah - snow is _much_ better than rain."

"On that count we agree-" Onyx breaks off with a yelp as Jack's snowball hits her in the face. It crumbles and falls to her jacket, and she wipes the rest of it away with the back of her sleeve. At first Jack is afraid she's angry but then she drops quickly and responds with a snowball of her own, much better made than Jack's, and hits him squarely on the shoulder.

"Amber is the snowball champion of the palace, and I've learned much from her," Onyx says, shaping another handful of snow into a ball and giving a very Pitch-like smirk. "For one who has only seen snow a few times in his life, you're playing a dangerous game. One you're going to lose."

"I might be new at this but I'm a fast learner," Jack says, and laughs as Onyx's snowball hits him, not even trying to get out of the way. Copying Onyx's technique he makes another projectile and this time pushes to his feet and launches it mid-run.

Onyx is not to be outdone, and she _is_ good at this. This time she makes a snowball for each hand, chasing after Jack and pelting him with one, then the other.

Laughing, he drops to the ground to make more; this time he misses as Onyx dodges, graceful and quick.

Jack has a snowball in his hand when he hears footsteps, and pauses. He turns to see Kal approaching and grins.

"How about we team up," he suggests to Onyx, who grins.

"I like that idea," she says, and quickly works to make an armoury of snowballs, ready to be launched at poor, unsuspecting Kal.

Without speaking they both move in front of the snowballs as Kal gets closer.

He smiles at them but his greeting is shattered by a snowball. He splutters as he shakes his head to shift the snow, then looks over at Jack with an open mouth. Jack only grins and throws a snowball up in the air, catches it.

"That's not fair!" Kal says, then leaps off the path to get ammunition of his own. But Onyx tags him before he can shape the snow and he looks at her with mock-betrayal. "You too? I thought you had honour, Onyx."

"When it comes to this, there is no such thing as honour," she says, and launches another snowball at him. "Only victory!"

Partnerships are formed and broken, tactics put into practice and good form is abandoned in favour of pelting the others with as many snowballs as physically possible.

There's no clear winner, and the fight comes to an end when they're all laughing, pink-cheeked and breathing heavy white clouds.

"How about a truce," Kal suggests, rubbing his hands together. "And a hot drink."

Onyx leads the way to a reception room near the library, one with a roaring fire that she and Kal instantly crowd around. Jack strips off cloak and boots and settles himself into the most comfortable looking chair.

"So how was Iscadin?" Jack hopes he manages to keep any jealousy from his voice.

"Cold," Kal says as Onyx goes to get a servant to bring them warm drinks. “Rikka wanted to go and see her brother who works on one of the ships in port, and the wind off the river is icy.”

"The docks are a wonderful place for a romantic walk," Onyx says as she returns, slipping off her soaking jacket and putting it near the fire to dry.

“I- I don’t-” Kal’s words are little more than squeaks, and he looks over at her with wide eyes. "I- I don’t know what you mean."

“Was that not your intention?” Onyx taps her lips and Jack has to hide a smile. He had no idea that Onyx could be so teasing. "I was sure that I heard her call you handsome."

Kal's mouth works silently for a moment, as it often does when he is talking to Onyx, and settles on a lovesick smile. "Handsome, huh?"

“And I saw the way she looked at you up in Dun Doras,” Jack adds. “And the way you looked at her, too.”

“W-what- I-”

He's saved from too much embarrassment when the servant knocks at the door with a mug of hot sweet tea and a carrot cake for each of them.

"Anyway, handsome’s a good thing, right? Definitely better than being called a god," Jack says, sipping his tea and deciding to give Kal a break. 

"I don't know," Kal says, latching onto the new conversation gratefully. "Throwing lightning bolts beats _handsome_ any day."

"I don't know about lightning bolts; snowballs are about as far as I get." 

“You're definitely good at that,” Kal says with a laugh. “So, what? You're the god of snowballs?”

“Hey, don’t limit me to just one season. I might be an ice mage but I’m fun all the time.”

“A god of fun, then?” Onyx asks with a smile that’s only slightly teasing.

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”

===

The next day starts with thoughts of more snowball fights.

There’s a knock at the door at breakfast time. Jack’s expecting the usual silent servant and is surprised to see a stranger enter, a lowborn with blond hair and a bright smile. 

“Good morning, Courtesan Jack.”

“Good morning,” he says, pleased by the change in demeanor from his usual servant. 

“Gerd is visiting family today; I’m just filling in for him. You take your breakfast on the balcony, don’t you?” Before waiting for an answer, he takes the tray out and puts in on the table. He gives Jack a conspiratorial smile. “Gerd told me that you like the fruit pastries, so I got you extra.”

“I thought there looked like more than usual. Thank you.”

The boy goes to the edge of the balcony and looks out, scanning the grounds. “Perfect morning to sit out in the fresh air, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Jack nods, popping a pastry into his mouth and sighing in pleasure at the taste. 

The boy turns back to Jack. “Enjoy your breakfast, courtesan,” he says, and with a bow, he leaves. 

Jack takes his time with breakfast, swinging his legs up onto the sofa so that he can read his book - or try to. 

He thought he’d finally found an interesting book about politics, but his hopes were quickly dashed. What started out as a promising tale of rebellion against the Sinaran empire and a lost heir to the throne quickly devolved into pages and pages of words like _legislation_ and _sumptuary laws_ and it’s so dull that barely minutes in, Jack’s mind rebels and refuses to read another word.

As least there's no romance. Jack's had his fill of that.

It’s been a week, and Kal’s been walking with Rikka every morning. These walks have grown longer every day, and that means he’s getting ever later in coming to see Jack. He keeps catching himself talking of her, and moving on to other things; but his words tend to wander back to her. Kal seems genuinely delighted to find someone interested in him; after so long mooning over Onyx, with whom he never had a chance, it must be a nice change. 

Jack tries not to be jealous. Kal deserves to be happy, and Rikka seems to be making him happy. But he’s afraid that the more Kal sees of Rikka, the less time he’ll have to spend time with Jack. The less he’ll _want_ to spend time with Jack.

Uncomfortable with these thoughts, he tries to turn his attention back to the book, but the moment he does, he feels a familiar magic - it sets the back of his neck tingling, a silvery shiver. He hasn’t felt magic like that in months - and it shouldn’t be _here_. 

The book falls from his fingers and he stands - it _can’t_ be-

The floor lurches under his feet and he staggers back, hand reaching for something to steady him as a strange groaning fills the air- Another lurch and Jack grabs the back of the sofa- A deeper groaning and a series of cracks, getting louder as Jack’s fear ratchets up- 

_Move, get inside, now, now, now!_

And then the floor drops away. 

There’s less than a heartbeat of disbelief and then he’s falling, his stomach cartwheeling. Noise, _huge_ noise, a blur of rocks and rubble and terror-

He grabs for his magic instinctively, desperately. He latches onto the wind, though he manages to hold onto it only long enough to arrest his fall. After a few feet he falls the rest of the way to the ground, crying out as he crashes on the rubble of his balcony. Pain tears through his right leg and he pulls it into his chest, gasping. 

"You idiot! You were only supposed to hit the top of the balcony, we were told to bring him in alive-"

"And he is alive, so shut up."

Jack looks up-

And forgets how to breathe. 

Six men in Lunanovan armour stand about twenty feet away, and the glowing circle of the silver bridge dances over the snow behind them. 

_It can’t be._

Only when one of the soldiers approaches does _bring him in alive_ sink in and Jack tries to scramble to his feet. His legs don’t want to hold him. He tries to reach his magic but his thoughts are tumbling and his heart is racing; he has nothing like the calm he needs to control it. Desperate, he grabs a fist-sized piece of rubble and throws it. It makes contact with the soldier's helmet, and the next one hits him squarely in the face. He spins backwards and crashes to the ground.

This time Jack manages to stand. He tries to run but each hobbling step is gasping agony and he’s too slow, too slow.

Another of the soldiers appears in front of him, a dagger in his hand. Jack tries to jerk away but succeeds only in falling backwards. The soldier gives him an ugly smile and before Jack can react, the knife flashes down. There's an explosion of pain down the side of Jack's face. He cries out, both hands going to his face as though he can hold back the pain. Blood is already pouring down his cheek, his neck, thick and hot and wet.

The soldier grabs his arm, pulls him to his feet. In his panic Jack reaches desperately for his magic. There's a terrible pain in Jack's temples, and in an explosion of blue sparks the man is thrown away from him.

"No one said he could fucking well use magic," one of the soldiers says, and Jack starts to limp away, trying to ignore the fear, the pain, the fact that this is even happening- 

There’s a shattering of glass and Jack looks around wildly, heart hammering as he tries to spot this new threat.

But it’s no threat.

It’s Kal and one of Jack’s guards; they jump from an upper storey window and are lowered to the ground on a cloud of shadow.

Kal is ex-military and the guard can obviously use shadow magic. Hope leaps in Jack’s heart. 

Everything will be okay now. Kal’s here to help him.

Someone cries _Get him into the circle!_ and Jack turns to see a soldier running over to him and his fear leaps, but a wave of shadow slams into the soldier and he is thrown against the side of the palace.

Jack’s guard lifts a hand and with a sweeping motion of his arm, a slam of shadow takes another soldier out.

Kal is by Jack's side, grabbing at his hand - _he’s touching me_ , Jack thinks stupidly - and pulling him away. "It's alright, Jack, you're going to be alright," he says, and Jack leans against Kal for support, limping as fast as he can. This can't be real, it can't be. His head spins and his face throbs, and it _can't be real-_

There’s a spike of magic and there’s a flash in Jack’s peripheral vision; turning, he sees the guard on the floor, unmoving.

 _This can't be real,_ Jack thinks again, hysteria leaking into his thoughts.

There are only two soldiers left, and one marches over, sword in hand.

"Sorry to break up the rescue mission," he says, but Kal moves between him and Jack, drawing his shortsword.

"You're not laying a hand on him."

"Oh, I’m terrified to be sure," the soldier drawls, and easily fends off Kal's thrusts. Kal is good but the soldier is better, and his longsword gives him better reach. It’s obvious that Kal is badly disadvantaged. Jack needs to _help_. He has magic, he hit that other soldier with those ice sparks, he can hit this one, come on, come _on_ -

It doesn’t work. 

_So go get help!_ Jack moves, taking deep ragged breaths as pain hammers at him with every step. He gets barely ten feet when his leg gives way again. 

He falls, and looks over his shoulder to see a parry and then a thrust-

And Kal stops, mouth dropping open as his sword falls from his fingers.

No.

The soldier chuckles and steps back, pulling his sword away.

It's red. Slick.

_No!_

"Nice try," the soldier says, mockery dripping from his words as Kal falls first to his knees, and then topples to the ground.

"No!" A scream, torn from Jack’s throat. Anger collides with Jack's fear and he rises to his feet, shaking and bloody.

The soldier looks at him with that mocking grin, but before he can speak Jack screams and lets the anger flow from him. It smashes through him, past his fear, past his confusion, past the barrier in his collar. Blue sparks race to the soldier and before he can even cry out they freeze into a hundred icy points and pierce him like a volley of arrows.

He falls, a mangled mess of blood and ice, and and then there is only the one soldier left.

Jack's anger rises again, consuming, white-hot, as icy particles spiral around him in a frozen whirlwind. It burns away control, thought; all Jack has is anger, building as the wind whips around him. 

The soldier starts to conjure a pulsing ball of light like liquid silver in his hand, growing bigger and bigger. The other hand holds a sword and he runs toward Jack. 

_Kal_ , Jack thinks and his anger drowns him. His magic surges, and Jack feels the barrier in the collar stutter and fall.

Magic crackles in the air: a building swirl of blue sparks; brightening silver light. The soldier reaches Jack, his hand clamping painfully tight around Jack’s arm, and Jack cries out, throwing everything he has at the him - just as the soldier launches his magic at Jack. 

There’s a flash so bright that it hurts-

And then darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you so so much for your lovely feedback! I'm so sorry I've not been replying to comments in the last few chapters (and on other fics too); I've been having some problems and have been spending some time offline. I'll get round to replies soon, hopefully this weekend. Comments and kudos, and notes over on tumblr, really do keep me writing, so thank you SO much <3 
> 
> And please check out some [new fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) that has been done for this story! It's all so stunning and beautiful and oh my goodness I feel SO lucky to have such talented and generous readers, omg <3
> 
> And of course thank you so much to [Impextoo](http://impextoo.tumblr.com/) for the beta, it's made this chapter about 10000000x better than it would have otherwise been, you're amazing <3


	15. Chapter 15

There's peace in the darkness.

Jack knows that he has to wake, that there's something that needs his attention, but he also knows that there is no peace out there. There is pain and heartache, and he wants nothing to do with it.

And so he floats in the blissful dark.

Slowly the real world beyond starts to seep in with cracks of painful light. Voices, heavy with loss and pain, only further his certainty that he doesn't want to wake.

Against his wishes, he starts to slowly rise to consciousness.

His attempts to resist fail; defeated, he opens his eyes.

He's inside. Somewhere he doesn't recognise. The thought frightens him deeply, though his exhausted mind offers no explanations to exactly why. It takes an effort to look around the room. It’s mostly dark save for a roaring fire in the hearth. The shutters on the windows are closed so tightly that it’s impossible to tell if it’s night or day. There's a weight on his wrist, heavier than his usual cuff. Somehow familiar and not altogether pleasant, but it seems too hard to try and remember, and lifting his leaden arm to take a look is impossible.

And then he feels the warmth of a hand wrapped tightly around his and the panic eases.

_Pitch,_ he thinks, knowing before he turns his head.

His king is sitting beside him, and he looks tired. Exhausted. His face is drawn and deep shadows frame each eye.

"Jack," he whispers and touches his hair, so gently, as though too harsh a touch might break him.

“Why are you here?” Jack croaks, and the way that Pitch's expression crumples both hurts and confuses Jack. Pitch was in Blenkeld, and Jack...

His exhausted mind can't summon the energy to face memories and when the greedy fingers of the darkness claw at him and he lets them pull him under.

There is a blur of awakenings and sleep. The time he spends awake is mercifully brief, nothing but numbness and vague sensations before falling back into the darkness once more.

The next time he wakes is different.

He feels truly awake for the first time, and with it comes a wrenching loss and a cage of guilt squeezing his heart. He doesn't know why; he can feel the knowledge within him, but he pushes it away desperately. Later. He’ll deal with it later. 

Pitch is at the far side of the room, talking in hushed whispers to a councillor that Jack vaguely recognises. Jack's throat is still dry, and he pushes himself up to reach for a glass of water on his nightstand, and is confused by the odd weight on his right leg. He pulls the sheets aside and sees a splint of carved wood, well wrapped with clean white cloth. For a moment he is confused, until his memory provides a roar of tumbling stones and a pain that drives the breath from him. 

"I'm here, Jack," Pitch says, suddenly by his side. "Do you want some water?" He pours some without waiting for a response and raises it to Jack’s lips, where he drinks slowly. "Councillor, please find Jethryn."

She nods and hurries out. Jack touches the side of his face, which is covered in bandages. There's a throbbing there that's not quite pain, dimmed by some herb or potion. His head feels odd, not a physical pain but something _wrong_ , numbed. 

And as his slow assessment of himself continues, he realises that his magic is bound, and that the binding feels at once strange and familiar. 

A slow horror creeps over him with a hundred tiny, cold feet, and he gazes down at his wrist. His golden cuff is gone. In its place is the binding bracelet from Lunanoff. He stares at it, not comprehending, and looks up at Pitch with wide eyes.

“Why?”

“The barrier in your collar is beyond fixing. The smiths in Iscadin will forge golden binding cuffs that look just like the ones you’ve been wearing, but that will take time. Until then-”

“I don’t want it. Get it off! I don't want to think of Lunanoff-” A flash of a Lunanovan soldier standing above him, knife in hand, makes his breath go shallow and fast. 

“We don't have any other binding strong enough,” Pitch says softly, but Jack shakes his head, trying to get the bracelet off and failing, just as he always did. “It won't be for long, Jack, I promise.”

His reply turns to ash in his mouth when six Lunanovan soldiers in shining armour crowd into his memory. Like perfect paintings in his mind, he remembers trying to get away; falling; being hurt by people who shouldn’t have been here, in his home, where he should be free from harm. 

“Your promised me that I'd be safe,” Jack gasps, and more memories threaten to overcome him. He squeezes his eyes shut against them and takes deep, ragged breaths in an attempt to wrest control of himself. 

When he opens them to glare at Pitch, he sees him looking like Jack just slapped him across the face, slack-jawed and mute. Jack glares at the bracelet, feeling a malicious pleasure in hurting Pitch when he has done _this_ to him.

Jethryn hurries into the room in a flowing grey robe and pauses just inside, glances from Pitch to Jack, no doubt sensing the unease between them. After a handful of seconds he comes forward, and offers Jack a warm smile. 

“Good afternoon, Jack. How do you feel?”

He looks at him blankly for a moment, not wanting to think about it, and then shrugs. 

“Well, let’s see how your healing is coming along,” Jethryn says, and puts his fingers close to Jack's forehead, not quite touching. Jack feels something brushing against his magic. It's the oddest feeling; gentle and probing, a healer's touch, but not physical.

“What is that?” Jack asks, pulling away slightly.

"I'm checking your magic,” Jethryn says. “Breaking through the barrier in your collar like that could have caused real harm."

Pitch's lips are thin, his arms folded. He stands a few feet from Jack’s bed. “And how is he?”

"He's alright. Most likely because of how strong he is. We underestimated that - the barrier wouldn't have held him in check forever in any case. Overcoming it so violently wasn't good for him, but there's no lasting damage." He gestures at the Lunanovan bracelet. “This should hold his magic in check for now, but we need to restart our lessons, and soon.”

“Once he is healed,” Pitch says firmly.

Jethryn nods. “It's important. But I'm sure your highness knows that.” Offering a bow to Pitch and a smile to Jack, he takes his leave.

Jack sits up, takes another drink, and touches the bandages on his face again. A vivid image of why they're there, of how he was hurt, slams into his brain and he gasps and his breathing comes shakily. He tries to push it away, to push everything away, to put up blocks between him and the memories as solid as the binding around his magic.

“Jack?” Pitch wraps a hand around Jack’s and then tries to run his fingers through his hair. It snags where it is matted with dried blood and Jack's breath hitches as his panic spikes.

“I want to wash,” Jack mumbles. “I have blood in my hair and-“ He cuts off, breathing heavily and trying to rein in his panic. “I just – I want to wash it away.”

“Alright, Jack,” Pitch says softly, gently. “That’s alright. There’s a bathroom in the healing halls; I’ll take you. You might feel better after a bath.”

Jack nods, not because he agrees but because the feels like that’s what is expected of him.

When Pitch lifts Jack in his arms, Jack tries to stay rigid and not lean into him as he so desperately wants to. As Pitch carries him, Jack breathes in his scent; despite himself, that makes him feel a little better. Stubborn anger wars with his need for comfort, and with a sigh, he relaxes in Pitch’s arms and allows the touch to soothe him. Two guards go with them, and as they leave the room, Jack sees two more guarding the door outside. It does little to ease his fear. 

They walk through a more public area of the healing halls, a room with ten beds. Most of them are empty, the white sheets crisp and untouched. Only one has an occupant, a young highborn Umbran who is pale and bandaged. When their eyes meet, Jack’s stomach tightens. It is his guard, the one who helped him against the Lunanovans. Not knowing how to react in the presence of someone who was injured saving his life, Jack offers him a tiny, shivering smile. In return, the guard gives him a sad one. 

Jack looks around but he doesn’t see Kal. But he must be here. He _must_ be. 

The bathroom they arrive at is much sparser than those in Pitch's rooms or Jack's own, mostly white with no decoration. Pitch runs the bath for him, checking the temperature of the water. He helps him undress, and Jack lets him. His limbs are too heavy to move and refuse to obey his commands, so he lets Pitch do what he will, lets him guide Jack into the water that’s a little too hot, but what does that matter? His splinted leg rests on the side of the bath so as not to damage the dressing.

Pitch takes off his jacket and puts it aside so that he can wash Jack, and Jack sits there, still and docile. He looks down at his leg, distorted by ripples in the water as Pitch washes him. Everything just happens and Jack lets it, not wanting to engage. Detachedly he looks at Pitch's grey skin, a contrast to the muddied rainbow of Jack's bruises. He tries not to notice the binding bracelet.

There is an intake of breath, as though Pitch is about to speak, but he just sighs. He puts a hand to the back of Jack's neck, a reassuring comfort in other times but now Jack can feel nothing.

The comb is on the other side of the room and Pitch has to leave Jack's side to go and get it. The instant he is gone panic smashes through Jack, terrifying in strength after all that nothing. He cries out, a strangled little mewl, and tries to stand up on legs that won't carry him, splashing water over the side.

“I'm here, Jack,” Pitch says,returning quickly, rubbing Jack's back as his breath races. “I'm here.”

It helps but a little, and Jack can feel a question bubbling to his lips. He doesn't want to know, he doesn't want to hear the words, because they'll make it true, but he can't stop himself-

"Kal?"

Pitch goes very still and for a moment he won't meet Jack's eyes. But then he does. "I'm sorry, Jack."

“No,” Jack says, a red blade drips in Jack's memory. _Yes,_ it whispers. “No!” But his attempts to fight the truth are as useless as were his attempts to fight the soldiers. It’s true, it’s true, it’s all true and it’s all his fault. 

He begins to cry, deep wrenching sobs that shake his body and hurt his heart.

Kal is gone. Because of him.

Because of him.

Pitch holds him tightly and Jack cries and cries until there's nothing left and the bathwater has gone cold.

===

Jack manages to stay awake a little longer the next day.

A healer comes to look at his dressings. The bandages are stuck fast with dried blood, and the healer removes them carefully.

“We've been concentrating on healing this over the past few days,” the healer says as he cleans Jack's face. “Let's see what it looks like.”

Jack's not sure he wants to know what it looks like. Or that he wants Pitch to see.

Eventually the bandages are off, a long stripe of white splashed with rust.

“What does it look like?” Jack asks, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice.

“It’s still healing,” the healer warns, and glances at Pitch, who nods. The healer goes to a cupboard and searches through it, his words muffled by the sounds of his rummaging. “There’s still some swelling and bruising; it will go down over the next few days. There’ll be some scarring, but you need to remember that what you see now is not permanent.”

He gives the mirror to Jack, and it shakes in his hands. He takes a breath that shakes just as much, and forces himself to look.

He barely recognises himself.

The whole side of his face is a mess of bruising and swelling. A tender red line cuts across his face from temple to cheek, almost to his mouth.

Though the healer said that it would get better, though that does little to cheer Jack. Better than this is still a far distance from how he looked before.

For all that he cares little about his looks, to see himself like this is a shock. And he can't help but think of all the times that Pitch has called him beautiful, lovely - always praising his looks above all else. 

And then he remembers Ben’s words, back in Lunanoff, when he’d first been told he was to be Pitch’s courtesan. _When we first suggested it to Pitch, he was wary at first - but then we showed him your portrait he agreed quickly enough after that._

The only reason Pitch _ever_ wanted him was because of the way he looked. Why would he want him now?

The thought that Pitch might cast him out – that after all of this – because of all of this- Pitch is all he has. And if Pitch doesn't want him any more-

The room blurs as tears fill his eyes. _Don't cry,_ he tells himself, disgusted. _Don't cry! Kal is - gone - and you're crying because you're not_ pretty _any more?_

Pitch notices. He dismisses the healer, and takes Jack’s hand.

“It's alright, Jack. It will heal.”

“It shouldn't matter,” Jack gasps and looks up at Pitch. “Does it matter to you?”

Pitch looks at him, shocked. “Of course not.”

“I'm your courtesan – the whole reason you wanted me is because of how I look. And now I look like _this_!”

“I don’t care how you look-”

“You always have before, why not now? Because you feel guilty because it’s _your_ fault? If you’d have let me come to Blenkeld with you, none of this would have happened.”

Pitch’s mouth works soundlessly and then he bows his head. For a long moment the room is silent save for the crackling fire. 

“You are right, Jack, in that this is my fault. One day, perhaps you’ll forgive me. And while you _are_ beautiful - yes, even now - I care more, far more for your health. All that matters to me is that you are alive and healing.”

The words sound hollow to Jack, and his anger is exhausting. He lies down and turns onto his side, facing away from Pitch. After long moments, he hears Pitch leave the room, and a tear splashes Jack’s pillow.

===

For the next few days, Jack continues to spend much time in sleep. More than he needs to. The healers approve; they say it will help him feel better. Jack’s not sure about that, but sleeping means that he’s not thinking. The jar of golden dreamsand that Pitch has put next to his bed gives him soft gentle dreams that he doesn't remember.

Sometimes when Jack wakes, Pitch isn't there. Too often, and loneliness over Jack like a shroud. There is only himself and the two silent guards who stand in the corners of his room, and he stares at the fire until the flames lull him back to sleep.

When Pitch is there he spends most of his time far from Jack’s bed, talking to councillors in low voices, and Jack doesn't care enough to try and listen in. He doesn't see Alden – of course he doesn't – and he's guilty about being grateful for that. He doesn't know how he will be able to face him. Alden will know that it's all Jack's fault, and he must hate him.

Whenever Jack thinks of Kal he turns his thoughts away skittishly.

And whenever he thinks of the soldiers who tried to take him away.

And whenever he thinks of the men he killed.

He doesn't let himself remember, but sometimes the memories force themselves on him with horrifying clarity and his heart starts to races as panic grasps him in his clutches. When Pitch is there, he comes to Jack’s side and squeezes his hand - always the one with that hateful binding bracelet - and it helps him calm his breathing.

“You should have been there,” Jack gasps.

“I know.”

“And you weren't!”

“I know.”

One time he wakes and Amber is there, sewing a spiralling gold pattern on red cloth.

She smiles at him. “Good morning, Jack. How are you feeling?”

“I've been better. Where's Onyx?”

Amber is silent for a moment, and then she looks down to smooth out his bedsheets as she answers. “The king asked her to take his place in the discussions with the Fintish king, so that he could spend time with you.”

“But he's not spending time with me.”

She pauses again and then sighs. “No. I suppose he isn't. The king is often a hard man to judge. Guessing at his thoughts doesn't do anyone any good.”

Unwell as he is, Jack doesn't miss the tone in her words, and he wonders what exactly was said to Onyx when she was sent away. As for Pitch's thoughts – Jack doesn't think there's much ambiguity there, and that is a depressing thought. Changing the subject to one less painful to both of them sounds like a wise choice.

“So what are you sewing? Is it for me?”

With a smile as forced as his change of subject, Amber holds up her needlework. The gold thread is like a sunset being painted on the red silk. “It's for me, to cheer Onyx up when she returns. Although I have been sewing a few things for you, to wear when you're up and about again. You'll probably have your splint on for a few weeks, so I'm thinking that comfortable flowing trousers to go over it will be best.”

“It feels like I'm never getting out of here. It feels like a prison.”

“It's only until the healers judge you well enough.”

“It's until the smiths in Iscadin finish my cuffs, so that my magic can be restrained instead of all of me.”

“Nobody wants to restrain you, Jack, but you're so powerful... We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Jack stares at her, the idea of someone - someone _else_ \- being hurt because of him almost more terrifying that the memories that he can’t bring himself to face. 

“I don't want to be feared,” he says quietly, his voice shaking. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths that help him find a little calm. “Or worshipped, or – or anything. I just want people who care for me-” The thought of Kal's smile is like a spear through his heart, and the world blurs with tears.

“We do care for you. And we want to help you. The king. Me, Onyx. Jethryn, too. We're all here for you; we all want to help. Whether you want to listen, or just sit together – sometimes even just having someone else there will help. The healers will help, too – anything, Jack. If there's something that you can think of that might help, just let us know.”

“I just- I want it not to have happened,” he says, and the tears in his eyes spill over, for all that he berates himself for them. 

“I know, Jack,” she says, and pulls him into her arms. 

In her embrace, unsullied by a sense of betrayal as Pitch’s is, Jack allows himself to cry. 

===

Jack is told that he made a blizzard in his healing room when he was first brought in, days before he remembers waking. No-one realised that the barrier in his collar was broken. There was a blizzard outside, too. It raged until, in desperation, Jethryn thought of the binding bracelet that Jack arrived with. 

Powerful enough to do all that, yet he could do nothing to help Kal.

And now after a week, his hastily made new cuffs have arrived from Iscadin. They’re presented in a black wooden box that ludicrously reminds him of the toys that Pitch gifted to him on that first visit to Iscadin. But they were proof of how lovely Pitch found him. These cuffs are ugly, clunky. Dull dark metal, carved with row upon row of runes. Purely functional, there is no attempt at anything even a little pretty. It seems fitting. Scarred and bruised and broken as he is, why even bother?

“These will contain your magic until you begin your lessons with Jethryn again,” Pitch says. Jack doesn't even bother to raise his eyes.

“Which should be soon,” Jethryn says. He stands on the other side of Jack's bed, a precaution in case anything goes wrong. “Very soon.”

Jack glances over at him, but decoding his guarded expression seems too much of an effort.

“When he is healed,” Pitch says firmly, and reaches for Jack's wrist. The binding cuff clicks into place and Jack looks down at it. He hates it instantly. Too different from his cuff; too clunky against his delicate markings. Better, at least, than the binding bracelet. It is weaker, too; he can still touch his magic with this, where it was beyond him with the bracelet. 

“Now the other,” Pitch says, and takes off the golden cuff. Only his king can do that, and as it comes away, Jack's breath sticks in his throat like a fish bone. Now he has only the collar to show that he is Pitch's. It feels like the removal of the cuffs is a symbol of Pitch's waning interest in him.

“Jack, remember your lessons,” Jethryn says sharply, and a glance at him show his breath misting in a room suddenly gone cold. Jack looks down at his bare wrist and then closes his eyes, breathing deep and trying to stop the temperature from responding to him. He wants to have at least this much control. 

And then the ugly bracelet snaps into place, heavy against his skin, and the connection to his magic is gone completely. After being able to touch his magic those weeks before the attack, slight though it was, being bound once more is like being blinded and Jack feels a fresh stab of grief at the loss of it.

A little panic and more anger cascades in him and his eyes light on the Lunanovan bracelet in Pitch's hands. Snatching it from him, Jack throws it into the fire, where it flares up in bright red and black flames, the signature of North's magic.

“Jack!” Jethryn stares at the flames, aghast. “That was priceless – the only example we had of modern Lunanovan smithwork-”

“It was his to destroy,” Pitch says, and Jack blinks up at him, surprised at his defence. Pitch smiles down at him, and touches his cheek – his good cheek – and for a moment, it is almost as if everything is as it once was.

But then Pitch drops his hand and steps back, glancing at the cuffs with something almost like regret in his eyes. 

“I must go and meet with my councillors,” Pitch tells him, gathering the gold cuff and the wooden box in his arms. “I will look in on you later, though you may be asleep.”

Jack opens his mouth to argue, but he knows there’s no point. He gives a curt nod and glares at his new cuffs, and after touching Jack’s shoulder lightly, Pitch and Jethryn leave, and Jack is alone once more. 

===

Finally the day comes that Jack is allowed to leave the healing halls. He can’t put his weight on his injured leg, and so he has to accept Pitch’s arm. He is still angry with Pitch, but more now for leaving him so often than for any betrayal. 

Guards walk before them and behind as Jack limps through the hallways of the palace, and Jack is reminded of nothing so much as being marched to the silver bridge in Lunanoff. His hand tightens on Pitch’s arm as he remembers the fear that was quenched when he saw that Pitch did not deserve his reputation, and that a courtesan was nothing that he thought it would be. But now, feeling on the brink of losing everything he has here, he fears once more. The fear gives way to the mess of guilt and grief that he feels over Kal, and by the time they arrive at Pitch’s rooms the world is blurred by tears that he refuses to shed in front of the army of guards that seem to haunt every room in Pitch’s suite of chambers save the bedroom. 

When Pitch leaves, it is the first time that Jack is glad, and he buries his head in the pillows and tries not to cry. 

===

Jack sits in Pitch's reception room, his knees pulled into his chest. It's the room with the best view, and he can't bring himself to go out onto the balcony. Not yet. But he will. Something he loved so much - he's determined not to let them ruin it for him. He'll go back out there. Soon.

Since leaving the healing halls, he has worked out that it has been almost three weeks since the attack. Those long, lonely days in that dark room meant that he missed Kal’s funeral, and he is not sure if he regrets it. He’s cared for few people as much as he cared for Kal. Whenever he thinks about it - or rather, skirts around the edge of thinking about it - he wishes he had that chance to say goodbye, but also doesn’t want to say goodbye. It’s still hard to believe that Kal’s gone. Some days he catches himself wondering when Kal's going to arrive, and then he remembers and he can't even breathe. 

It’s not just the hurt of missing Kal. He’s afraid, too. A slamming door will make his heart race. Voices in the corridor make him want to run and hide, until he realises it is just the guards outside the door. 

Or he’ll worry about the fact that Pitch is absenting himself so often. Can he really have stopped caring for Jack, just because of a single scar? It has healed as much as it will, a thin and silvery slash across his face, obvious even against his pale colouring. For all of Pitch’s protestations that it means nothing to him, he’s never _here_ , and that means more than his words. 

And then Jack will feel guilty for thinking about himself, because how selfish that is when Kal...

It’s hard to think while he’s trapped in this thorny forest of fear and doubt, guilt and grief, but he tries.

He thinks about starting his magic lessons again. He wants these ugly cuffs gone. But most of all he wants _control_. He doesn't want anyone else to get hurt because of him. He doesn't want to be afraid all the time.

But whenever he asks Pitch, he is gently rebuffed with _soon_ or _you’re not well enough_ and Jack’s frustration starts to mount. 

He feels trapped in Pitch’s rooms, with no-one to take him out. Not even his own rooms are available, and besides, the thought of going back there to where his world fell apart makes him feel lightheaded.

“Is there nowhere I can go to be alone?” The question goes to Ivor, who somehow seems to be everywhere, dusting a bookshelf or polishing a table. Considering that Jack rarely noticed him before, it is obvious that he is spying for Pitch. “My - my rooms. Or one of the rooms off my corridor, maybe.”

“Repairs take a long time over winter,” Ivor says, and though Jack doesn’t doubt the truth of that, he doesn’t see why he couldn’t go to his art room, where at least he’d have something to _do_.

With a sigh he goes back to looking out of the window and sinks deep into resentment.

===

Days become weeks and finally Jack forces himself to go out onto the balcony. Just a step or two, his heart racing; but then the wind darts about him with such obvious pleasure that Jack can feel it even with his magic bound. He needs to get back to his magic lessons. Jethryn said how important it was, and apart from a persistent limp, Jack feels almost back to normally - physically at least. But the lessons and the deep calm they instil in Jack can only help with his raging emotions.

A knock at the door makes him spin to face it, his hands coming up defensively; but then he hears Amber calling his name. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he limps his way across the bedroom to the dressing room, where she awaits him. She is trying to hide something behind her back, wrapped in a beautiful white satin. Considering that whatever it is happens to be nearly as tall as she is, it doesn’t do much good. 

“I got you something,” she says, and Jack raises an eyebrow at her. She hands it over, and he unwraps it to see-

“A stick?”

“A staff,” she corrects. It’s long, a little longer than he is tall, with a crook at the end. It feels strangely right in his hands. The weight of it, the feel of it beneath his fingers. “To help you with your limp. It might not be for long, but you should always accessorise.”

“It would be a great help, I’m sure, if I was allowed to walk anywhere.”

She sits beside him and shifts her green-and-gold dress until she’s comfortable. “You will,” she says, and Jack wonders why she sounds so certain. “Onyx will be home soon; the king will let her guard you, and you can go out onto the grounds again.”

By all accounts the talks with the Fintish went well, and three Umbran warships will be accompanying the Fintish king home. Now Onyx is taking a short break in the north with her father, but Jack doubts that’s the real reason behind it.

“I don’t want to be guarded,” Jack says, hand tightening around his staff. “I want to be able to fight for myself - or at least be able to use my magic to escape. I don’t want to be _useless_.”

“This might help you with that,” she says. “The wood was felled in a snowstorm; it has an affinity with your magic. From what I understand, you should be able to use it as a focus.”

“I’m Selenan. I don’t need a focus.”

“Later, when you’re fully trained, maybe not. But now - it’s called a _focus_ for a reason. It helps you concentrate on your magic. You’ll have to ask Jethryn for a proper explanation, but I know that Pitch had a focus when he was training, and he’s one of the most powerful mages in all of Umbra. Don’t dismiss something that could help you reach your goal.”

He looks down at the staff, annoyed at being chastised. Besides, even if she’s right, he _still_ needs to start his magic lessons again, whenever Pitch feels like allowing him. 

===

Too much time to think has never been good for Jack, especially when there's so much to avoid thinking about. Pitch is leaving him every day just when he needs him most, and Jack's resentment grows like a choking weed.

Two weeks after being released from the healing halls, he's healed enough to have something almost like a normal sleeping pattern and he stays awake to wait for Pitch. Though he's still tired, his anger gives him strength. Over and over he plans it in his mind – what he wants to say, what he wants to ask. But the other side of the conversation - Pitch's response – Jack fears to think about. What if he says that all of Jack's fears are true?

By the time he hears the door open, it must be well past midnight. He hears a rustle of undressing and then sits up, turning. Pitch has no lamp; he can see well enough in almost total darkness. The only light in the room is the soft glow of dreamsand, and it doesn't reach him. He is only a shadow within shadows that pauses at Jack's movement.

“Jack? You should be resting.”

“You've been avoiding me.”

A pause, both long and weighty. “Yes.”

The single word is painful to hear, like someone's stolen all his air along with his hope.

“You don't want to see me,” Jack whispers, willing his tears not to fall. Anguish is balanced out by anger, and he snaps out his words. “You could at least have the decency to tell me that you don't want me as your courtesan anymore.”

“Of course I want you!” Pitch comes to the bed, the weight of the mattress dipping beneath him. Now that he is within the dreamsand's light, Jack can see that he is topless, and the golden glow lends his skin a touch of colour. Jack's desire is roused by the sight of toned arms and slender torso, and he clenches his jaw at the betrayal of his body.

“You're right,” Pitch continues. “I have been avoiding you. Because I thought you didn't want me near you. I thought you were angry with me.”

“I am angry with you – because you've been leaving me all alone when I need you.” The anguish wins out against the anger, and tears spill down his cheeks. Jack wipes at them furiously. “And you left me alone when I asked you - _begged_ you – to take me to Blenkeld. And look what happened.” He gestures at his face, and Pitch's eyes go to Jack's scar. Even in what little light there is, Jack can see guilt and regret in his face, and meanly thinks _good_.

“And that – that is another reason why I've been avoiding you.”

“Because you don't think I’m beautiful?”

Pitch blinks, and if Jack didn't know better he would have said that Pitch was confused by his words. “No, because in looking at you, I saw your fear and grief, I saw your scar, and I knew it was my fault. Once more someone I love is hurt because of my actions.”

Jealousy thumps in Jack's chest. “Karine. You're talking about Karine.”

“And Seraphina. And now you. I should have known. I should have _known_ to keep you with me. Where I can protect you.”

“Then why are you leaving me alone now? I'm _scared_ , and I'm hurting, and- Amber tries to help me. Even Ivor. But you – you’re supposed to protect me! You’re supposed to be _with_ me! And you're nowhere. Off thinking of your family and leaving me as alone as I've ever been.”

“I think of my wife and child everyday,” Pitch snaps, looking at Jack with narrowed eyes before letting his gaze fall to his hands where they rest in his lap. There’s a pause, long enough for Jack to start to feel guilty, before Pitch continues. “Every single day. And I always will. But you, Jack – my thoughts are full of you every _second_. Everything I'm doing is for you. Perhaps I'm doing the wrong thing, but I am doing it for you.”

“Then where are you? Why aren't you with me? What are you doing that is so much more important than being with me?”

“Nothing is more important,” Pitch says and sighs, taking Jack's hand. “But as for where I've been – I’ve been doing my damnedest to find out what happened, and making sure it can't happen again.”

“So – I’m still not safe, am I?”

Pitch's lips thin. “All of the wards are manned by a guard, and each guard says that nothing happened, and yet obviously it did. We've doubled the wards and doubled the guard, but I can't promise that it will not happen again.”

Jack puts a hand to his mouth, and realises that he's shaking. Pitch sees it too, and pulls Jack into his arms. For a moment Jack considers pushing him away, but it feels too good to deny him, however angry he still feels.

“But I am here. If anyone tries to harm you, I will kill them, and it will not be a pleasant death.”

Jack pulls back to glare at him. “But someone _did_ harm me -”

“And they are in my dungeons, regretting with every moment that they even looked at you. Even in sleep they are tormented - it is the first time in many years that I have used my nightmare sand, and never has there been a more deserving recipient. There will be no rest for them, and no peace either, not until they talk. And if that means that I must continue to - persuade them - then so be it.”

Jack blinks at him, wanting to hear details and being shocked by that wish. Shaking his head, he turns back to the problem. “But you're not _here_. You're not here, and I don't feel safe without you.”

“If you truly want me with you, I will give you all the time I can.”

“If you want to be with me, then yes, I want you here.”

“Of course I want you,” Pitch says and then sighs at the circularity of their argument. He reaches up to play with a lock of Jack's hair, and that moment of easy intimacy makes Jack ache for everything to be as it was. Their eyes meet, and Jack offers him a small smile. “Are you still angry with me?”

“A little.”

“Then – you will not want me to kiss you.” At first Jack thinks he is joking, but there is no humour in the way his mouth curls down and his eyes shutter. With a pang of annoyance Jack wraps his hands around Pitch's neck and pulls him in for a kiss. It's rather perfunctory, but it's a connection, the first step across the bridge that stands between them.

“You can control this,” Pitch says. “If you feel you need some control over your life, control this. Our – intimacy. When you are ready, take the lead.”

Jack considers this. “I'm not ready – not yet. I'm still angry at you. And – angry at everything. When I'm not sad about everything, or numb, or-”

“I know,” Pitch says softly, and Jack frowns up at him. He's talking about Karine, and there's that ugly slash of jealousy again. And yet...

“How long did it take you to – to want to, after she...?”

“Two years.”

Jack blinks. “Well. I hope it doesn't take _that_ long.”

A smile skips over Pitch's lips. “It was more that I had hoped she was still alive. That she'd return to me. And as that hope was worn thin by the years, I sought out old lovers, people I was comfortable with, who I knew I could trust not to hurt me. Even then, I thought that if she was alive, she would forgive me a few transgressions.”

“I wouldn't,” Jack says, knowing that it's not the same and not caring. “I know I'm only your courtesan but-”

“There is nothing _only_ about you,” Pitch says, and the intensity in his eyes is a fearsome thing.

With a forced chuckle, Jack shakes his head. “Even when you're being kind of sweet, you're frightening.”

“I _am_ the Nightmare King.”

Another smile, this time broken by a yawn.

“Sleep, Jack. I will stay with you in the morning and we can talk more then.”

Jack nods, struggling to keep his eyes open as Pitch gets up to undress and pull on a night robe.

For the first time since Jack returned to these rooms, they don't sleep back to back, but Pitch spoons Jack, arm resting over his stomach and holding him close.

As sleep starts to claim him, Jack thinks that they are not where they were, and he is not as he should be. But for the first time in weeks, Jack thinks he - and Pitch - can get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all so so much for the support with that last chapter! So many kudos and comments - I guess you guys really like cliffhangers, huh? Seriously though - thank you so so much, it means everything. 
> 
> Once more there is some [STUNNING, AMAZING fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) of this fic that you really need to take a look at. 
> 
> And as ever, thank you so much to Impextoo for the wonderful beta job. Any remaining mistakes are most assuredly my own.


	16. Chapter 16

The morning sky is an endless bank of grey clouds.

They make Jack feel like he's suffocating and he looks away, glancing instead at the crackling fire. He is in Pitch's reception room, a place that's become almost his own room these days. Some of his belongings have been brought in from his own rooms, and Pitch now knocks before entering. Jack knows he should be grateful that Pitch is giving him a space of his own, but he feels like he's intruding. He wants his own rooms back, though the wish is always chased by fear. 

There's a knock at the door and it opens to reveal not Ivor but Gerd, carrying a tray of steaming tea and delicious-smelling porridge.

Gerd gives Jack a very small smile before looking away, concentrating on setting out Jack's breakfast. He is as silent as ever. Now that Jack is more isolated than even before, he yearns for companionship wherever he can get it. Even Ivor talks to Jack as he serves his meals, and Jack is able to get a few tidbits of gossip from him. The silence from Gerd is deafening, and Jack has to break it.

“So how was your time with your family?”

Gerd's gaze bounces up, and he stares, wide-eyed, before focusing intently on pouring Jack's tea. “I don't know what you mean, sir.”

Jack pauses before answering. Is he teasing? Gerd doesn't seem the type. “A month ago. When – when I had a different server.” Gerd glances up again, clearly confused. Jack makes himself continue. “Just before the- the attack. The other server said that you were away, visiting family.”

Gerd shakes his head. “I- I'm sorry, sir. But I served you that morning, as I do every day when you're in your rooms. I've not been away from the palace for three months.”

“It was a blond boy,” Jack says, incredulous. “Older than you.”

Gerd shakes his head again. “I'm sorry, sir. You must be mistaken. Perhaps you're thinking of someone who served you here in the king's rooms.”

Jack opens his mouth to argue, but lets it fall shut. He _knows_ it wasn't Gerd who served him that day. And it doesn't seem like Gerd would be as good a liar as this. But what else to make of this, Jack has no idea.

“Please,” Gerd says, looking desperately uncomfortable. “Is that all?”

With a nod, Jack dismisses him, perplexed over why Gerd might lie, or even more oddly, not remember.

The porridge is almost gone by the time Pitch arrives, dressed in severe black robes with a high collar. Ivor is by his side with fresh tea and a tureen of porridge. He ladles some out to Pitch and offers Jack more, which he gladly takes.

“My apologies, Jack,” Pitch says. “I know I said that we would take breakfast together, but I had to deal with the Fintish ambassador. He tells me that since our ships arrived in Fintan, they have already fended off a raiding party from Sinar. Since Ivor was serving us, I asked that your usual servant bring you breakfast. I hope everything was to your satisfaction.”

“Yes. Thank you. But-” Jack pauses, not wanting to get Gerd into trouble, but confused as to why he might say what he did. “There was a day where he was visiting family - a blond boy served me instead. But when I asked after Gerd's family, he said that he hadn't seen them. That there was never a day when he didn't serve me. I'm a little confused.”

“There _shouldn't_ have been a day when he didn't serve you,” Pitch says with a frown. “I have not authorised anyone else to be in your rooms. When was this?”

“The day – the day that-” Jack gets angry at his inability to say the words, and pulls his hands into fists. “The day of the attack.”

Pitch is silent for a long moment, and his fingers tighten around his spoon until his knuckles are white. “You said this new servant was blond?”

Startled by Pitch's reaction and fearing that he has got not only Gerd but this other server into trouble, Jack speaks quickly. “Yes, but he was very friendly. He did nothing amiss-”

“Ivor, find out who this boy is and bring him to me.” Ivor bows and departs.

“I don't- You don't think he had something to do with what happened? He seemed so nice-” And then Jack remembers Kal saying how Jack always underestimates people who are nice to him, and is breathless from a twin punch of guilt and fear. _Could_ this boy have had something to do with what happened? A spy, in Jack's own rooms? And if he is still in the palace-

A scraping sound makes Jack startle, but it is only Pitch moving his bowl aside so that he can take Jack's hands. “If he had any part in that, I will find out,” Pitch says. “And if he did, I will wring every last secret from him. I _will_ find out who did this.”

“I hate this. I just want to be safe. I just want things back the way they were.”

“I know, Jack,” Pitch says sadly. “But I'm afraid I can't do anything about that. I can only protect you.”

“I hope you do a better job than last time,” Jack says before he can stop himself, and after a moment, Pitch's hands slide away from his and wrap instead around his cup.

“As do I,” he says, his voice clipped, and the silence stretches out.

“Aren't I supposed to be starting my lessons today?” Jack asks, wanting to be somewhere else, somewhere that he can't upset those he cares about by misspeaking.

“Yes. I will take you now, if you like,” Pitch says, and stands when Jack nods. Just before they leave the room, Jack grabs Pitch's hand and holds him back.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly. The words have to be forced through a clenched jaw, but they need to be said. He is still angry with Pitch and he still blames him for what happened, but he _knows_ , intellectually, that it wasn't his fault. He also knows that if he doesn't stop speaking so rashly, that Pitch might deem him not worthy of the effort of helping him. After all, why would anyone want a courtesan who is not only scarred and battered but bad-tempered to boot? “I know that I shouldn't have said that. I know – I know you did what you could.”

“I did not do what I could,” Pitch says. “I was not with you. But I am now. I am sorry if you wish I wasn't.”

“Why would you say that?” Jack breathes. “Of course I want you here.”

“You are not acting like it. And I don't blame you-”

Jack stops Pitch's words with a kiss, ill-timed and off-target; but for all that he is angry with him, Jack can't lose Pitch. He can't. He's all he has. “I'm sorry. I'm just – everything hurts so much, all the time. And I – I don't know how to deal with that.”

Pitch's expression softens and he touches Jack's cheek. “That is a feeling I know well, Jack. Come. Your lesson might take your mind off things for a while. It might be better to keep busy.”

“You're not angry with me?”

“Never for long.”

With a small smile, Jack pushes onto his tiptoes to kiss Pitch again, and this time he lingers, a sweet little series of kisses that ease the hurt in his heart.

Feeling lighter, Jack grabs his staff and follows Pitch to Jethryn's workroom, two guards shadowing their steps.

Jethryn welcomes Jack in with a warm smile, and Pitch touches Jack's cheek gently before saying his farewells. One of the guards stays outside Jethryn's rooms, and the other follows Pitch. Jack pauses in the doorway, watching Pitch go.

“Come, Jack,” Jethryn says. “Before we move forward, we must move back. We will start once more with meditation.”

With one last glance at Pitch, Jack turns and closes the door behind him. Perhaps meditation will help him gather his scattered wits.

Jethryn's workroom is the same as it ever was: cluttered with books and scrolls; with jars filled with herbs and other, more mysterious things. In a time when everything seems to be changing, this constancy is very welcome.

Jethryn gathers some cushions and lays them on the floor, settling himself on them before gesturing for Jack to join him. “Let's start with a simple breathing exercise.” 

Jack is glad to resume his magic lessons. He was right: the meditation does help. The ugly cuffs, as much as Jack despises them, are well made, and when Jethryn examines them, he gives a pleased smile and says that he will be able to amend the level of binding with ease. At least they are good for something, Jack thinks, losing a little of the peace that the meditation brought him. 

Not wanting to think of the cuffs any longer, Jack tells Jethryn of the staff, and how Amber suggested it could be used as a focus. Jethryn looks at it long, concentrating on where Jack's hands rest on its surface.

“Already its aura and yours are bleeding together,” Jethryn says. “The surest sign of an excellent focus. Truly there isn't much that I can teach you about using a focus. It's a matter of practice.”

“But what _is_ a focus? Do you have one?”

“I have one that I used when I was learning. I keep it on hand, for more complex magics, or sometimes when I am exhausted and need a boost. That is something that happens rarely these days; it is more of a thing that would happen in war, when the chief mage is called upon to fight...” He trails off and gazes into the distance, lost in thought, until his attention snaps back to Jack.

“And Pitch has a focus too, right?”

“He does, though I have never seen him use it. As with all mages, at least in Umbra, he had it when he was starting his lessons. And I hear that when he was in the military he used it in campaigns so that he could command a large army of shadow creatures.”

“Have you ever seen him fight?” 

“No, not like that. Onyx has; perhaps you could ask her. It sounds like a fearsome thing. But let us concentrate on your lesson. First we should look at using your staff as a focus; _focus_ being exactly what you will need in order to control the wind. You need to concentrate all of your effort on it.”

“But when I control the wind in other ways – like the exercises with the leaves – that doesn't take any great concentration,” Jack says. “It just feels natural.”

“And so will all magic, once you're practised at it. But when you are carrying yourself on the winds, for example, the price of failure is much higher. You need as much help as you can get when you are first starting out.”

Jack's eyes widen at the mention of riding the winds. “You're going to let me try flying again?”

“One thing at a time, Jack,” Jethryn says, not bothering to hide his amusement at Jack's childish glee. "Now try and focus on the staff. Become aware of it, as you do the wind."

The thin promise of flying gives him new motivation; Jack closes his eyes and does as he's asked. To be able to master his magic he’ll do most anything. 

The rest of the afternoon is spent trying to use the staff as a focus. He’s surprised by how easy he finds it. He feels an intrinsic connection to the staff. It doesn’t have a personality, like the wind does, but it’s a connection and it’s real. He can almost feel how it will help him with his magic. 

“When will you unbind my magic?” Jack can’t stop himself from asking, and Jethryn looks at him, a little startled at first, but it quickly becomes amusement. 

“When I’m sure you’re ready,” he says. “But if you continue to show this same level of dedication, I’m sure that will be soon.”

Jack nods. He will do his best to make sure that it is. 

===

As Jack looks at himself in the mirror of the dressing room, his reflection couldn't be more different than a month ago. The scar and the cuffs - those, he's never sure he will be able to see without sadness pooling in him. His wardrobe too has changed. No more sheer fabrics or beautiful embroidery, or tight trews that show off his legs. Now the trousers are loose, the tunic black, simple and plain save for a stripe of silver at the hem. 

"You don't look impressed," Amber says from behind him. She is a contrast to his drab clothes: her dress dark purple with lace on the bodice, a deep purple gemstone hanging from a silver necklace. All these months and Jack has taken his fine clothes for granted - he didn't even like them at first. And now...

"I just- The clothes are a little plainer than I'm used to."

"I suppose that's true, though this velvet is so lovely," she says, touching the hem of his tunic. "I know what you mean, though. I made the trousers for comfort rather than looks. They're a little – functional,” she says, saying the word with a look of disdain. “But at least they match your cuffs.”

Jack stares at her. There's a lightness to her words that suggests she means it as a jest, but what is there to joke of?

“I am sorry that I'm not a fit model for your designs any more,” he says stiffly, and glares down at the hated cuffs, trying not to cry, or shout, or say anything that he will regret.

“What are you talking about?” The surprise in Amber's voice is clear. “This is only temporary, while you're healing. I only thought that it would be easier for you while you're still limping. If you wish, I can bring your old clothes and you'll look just as lovely as ever in them. Why would you think you wouldn't?”

“Because of this!" Jack gestures at his scar. "Because I'm - damaged. No longer beautiful and no longer fit to wear beautiful clothes.” Amber goes very still. Raising an eyebrow, she touches her patch, and Jack's stomach plummets.

“Am I so hideous then? Because I did think that I looked rather lovely in my own designs.”

"No," Jack says, horrified. "That's not what I meant at all."

Amber gazes at him, and then sighs, her coolness dropping away. "I know that you're hurting, Jack. But have a mind what you say."

"I'm sorry, Amber. I'm trying but it's hard to - to control myself. I keep saying things without thinking."

"When you're angry and upset it can be hard to stop words spilling from your mouth, but you must try," she says. "When you don't, you end up hurting the people who care about you."

"I know. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

"Whether you meant it or not isn't the point. And I forgive you, so you can stop apologising." She shakes her head and looks down at her bare nails. She says that she's forgiven him but she still looks hurt, and it makes Jack feel like he's swallowed a stone. He wishes he knew what to say or do to make it better. Just for once, he wishes he could say the right thing.

"I just- I keep doing everything wrong. And being selfish, like just now. All I can think of is myself."

"Grief can make a person selfish."

It's as much an agreement as Jack is going to get from her, and it cuts deeply for all its softness. "It's not even just now, is it? Like before - while you and Pitch were away, and Kal was spending time with Rikka. He was spending his mornings with her and coming to see me later and later, and I was so jealous that he might want to spend time with someone other than me. Of course he's allowed to like someone else but I -"

"Kal was late in coming to see you?"

There's a sharp note in her voice that Jack doesn't understand, and he blinks at her. "Y-yes. But not much. Only an hour or two, apart from the morning he went to Iscadin."

"He went to Iscadin?” Amber's voice goes slightly high and she stares at him. “The king commanded that he stay in the palace at all times, to be near to you in order to protect you."

"But- Onyx gave him permission."

"Onyx did?" Amber frowns on confusion. "But she knew that he wasn't to leave the palace. Why would she do that?"

Jack blinks, and thinks of the blond boy - the possible spy - and suddenly his thoughts are swamped with suspicion. Could Onyx also have had some part in this? No, he thinks, horrified at himself. Of course she couldn't.

"Perhaps she was glad that he was showing interest in someone other than herself."

Amber snorts and shakes her head. "If you think that she would let personal things get in the way of a direct order from the king you don't know her very well."

Jack winces; another misstep from him. This time at least Amber seems amused rather than angry. To have upset her, however accidentally, hurts deeply. "No, I know you're right. But it's such a small thing. And she spent the day with me. What harm could it have done?"

Amber just looks at him and Jack stammers another apology. What harm? Only that what happened to Kal could have happened to her. But at least with her shadow magic, she might have been better able to stand against the Lunanovans.

"Perhaps I should just keep my mouth shut," Jack says.

"Just _think_ before you speak," she says, and taps Jack's temple.

He nods, and after a moment she hugs him. The gesture takes him by surprise; considering what he's said - even if he didn't mean it - it's incredibly generous.

“I know it's hard, Jack. I do. We're trying to help, but you're not making it easy.”

He closes his eyes against the sting of tears. If Amber - kind, generous Amber - is saying these things to him, he must truly be acting atrociously. Selfish and cruel and spiteful. At risk of losing all that he has here in Umbra; all this that he knows he doesn't deserve. 

“I'm sorry,” Jack whispers. Wrapping his arms around her, he leans in closer and accepts her comfort.

===

The day gets better with Jack's magic lesson. 

Convinced that Jack has regained his control, Jethryn lowers the binding down to the same level as it was before. After these weeks of being fully bound, it is like breathing fresh air after being trapped in a dank cave. The day is spent getting in touch with the wind once more, and with the help of his staff he quickly shows the same level of mastery as before. More than that, touching the wind is like seeing a much-missed friend again.

And so when Jack goes into the chambers and sees Pitch in his study, frowning at a book on his desk, Jack walks in with a smile, kissing Pitch's forehead as though he can banish the frown. Though the frown remains it softens, and Pitch runs his fingers through Jack's hair.

"How was your lesson?"

"Good," Jack says, and leans in to kiss Pitch on the lips, very gently. "And how has your day been?"

Pitch pauses, as though he isn't sure whether to answer, and then sighs. "Amber came to speak to me about this morning."

Jack stares at him. About his careless words? Surely she wasn't so upset as to speak to Pitch about it - surely Jack's thoughtfulness has not cost him her friendship. But what if it has? What if she told Pitch that she no longer wishes to dress Jack?

"She said that Kal was coming to see you later each day."

It's not at all what he was expecting and Jack doesn't answer immediately; when he does he jumps to Kal's defence. "It- it was nothing. He and Rikka were fond of each other. I don't mind that he wanted to spend time with her."

"Nor do I. But it worries me that he would leave you alone."

"It wasn't like that. I still had the guards outside my door. And he still spent time with me when I wished to go outside. Which was his job, wasn't it?"

"It was," Pitch says. "But his visiting Iscadin with her - that I can't understand. I gave him orders to stay in the palace. One of the reasons I appointed Kal as your bodyguard was because he is absolutely loyal. It seems strange that he would shirk his duty like that.”

“He wasn’t _shirking_ anything,” Jack says. “He was never as late as all that.”

“Still. Considering everything that happened, it’s a coincidence that I don’t like.”

“But you trust Kal, right?” Jack's breath catches. "Trust _ed_."

“Implicitly. I wouldn’t have appointed him as your bodyguard otherwise. Rikka, however…” He shakes his head. “I have worked with her and I see no reason to distrust her. More to the point, Aleksis trusts her and he is an impeccable judge of character. She has been part of his circle of travel mages for years.” Pitch is still frowning, as though he is not quite convinced of her trustworthiness.

“She's in Dun Doras, right? You can just speak to her.”

“I can. And I will.” Pitch's countenance is fearsome to behold, and if Rikka truly is innocent then Jack feels sorry for her. She seemed sweet; surely she has nothing to do with this. He resented her for taking Kal's attention away from him, but there was nothing truly suspicious. Was there?

“What about the blond boy? The servant?” Jack isn't sure he wants to know the answer, and yet he must know.

Pitch's lips thin. “A mystery. The cook says that she sent Gerd. The guards on your door say they saw Gerd.”

“I know what I saw-”

“And I believe you. And if you are right...” Pitch shakes his head. “If you are right, then there is strong magic at work here. In my palace. Threatening my courtesan.”

Fear dances in Jack. Why does no-one else remember this blond boy? Who is he? _Did_ Rikka have something to do with this? If they don't know who the enemy is, then the enemy could be anyone. The thought makes him afraid and he wonders is _anyone_ can be trusted.

"I will not promise you safety, Jack, not after what happened. But I will promise you that I will do everything I can to make you safe, and that I would die to protect you."

So fierce is his voice that Jack is taken aback. "I - I don't want you to die."

"Nor do I," Pitch says, still fierce. "But I would. For you."

Jack stares at him. A king, willing to die for a courtesan? And for Jack no less - people in Lunanoff wouldn't even _speak_ to him for fear of incurring his father's wrath. Yet Pitch is speaking of this. The ridiculousness of it comes to Jack all at once and he laughs, a broken thing at first, but it snaps the tension. He giggles, and after a moment of looking worriedly at him, Pitch smiles, running a finger down Jack's jaw. 

When his giggles ease, Jack smiles, feeling a warmth towards Pitch that he has not felt since before this happened. He leans over and kisses Pitch, brief at first, little more than a touch; but it is enough to waken Jack's dormant desire and he shifts for a better angle. Licking his own lips, Jack leans in again, and the kiss is slick and Pitch's lips are hot. Jack's tongue darts out and Pitch opens his mouth obediently. Jack lifts a hand to pull pitch closer, and the weight of the cuff around his arm is instantly thrust to the forefront of his attention. All of his desire comes crashing down in broken pieces and he pulls back, staring at the cuff with twisted lips.

"Jack-"

"I need to study," Jack says, getting to his feet. "Jethryn gave me many books and if I'm to improve my skills with magic, I should get on with reading them."

===

By the end of two weeks of lessons, Jack feels that he is ready to move on, and says as much to Jethryn. With a thoughtful expression, Jethryn looks at the staff.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Jethryn says, and Jack's guards escort him back to Pitch's rooms. The dismissal gnaws at Jack. Magic seems to be the only area in which he's making real progress. Things between himself and Pitch are slowly improving; more slowly than Jack would like. Most of it, he knows, is his own doing; he looks at Pitch and feels betrayal, though that is starting to fade. Amber still seems distant, though her frequent mentions of Onyx make Jack hope that not all of that is due to him. And there are the times that he misses Kal intently; those are always accompanied by a guilt that steals his breath away.

He sits in Pitch's reception room and looks out of the window at the dark sky. That can never happen again. No-one can ever be hurt trying to protect Jack; he isn't worth it. Pitch’s promise to give his life for Jack’s was sweet, but it was just empty words. He needs to do something to protect himself; he _can_ protect himself. During the attack, the blue lightning and the tiny ice daggers – if he can only learn to control them, he won't need anyone else. He told Jethryn of it, and suggested that he learn to use that magic, but Jethryn insisted that studying the theory behind magic must come first, especially with such a rare and powerful form of magic as Jack's. And so Jack has been reading and studying, but it is time to act.

Tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, Jack makes a decision. Getting up, he grabs his staff and a lamp, and leaves the room. Ivor is just outside in the hallway between Pitch's chambers, ostensibly dusting a sconce.

“I'm going to bed,” Jack tells him, and Ivor nods.

“Of course. I'll be sure not to disturb you.”

Jack closes the bedroom door firmly behind him and crosses the room with determined strides. Stepping out onto the balcony, just one step, he looks around, listens, senses out with his magic. There's nothing but the wind that races forward to play with his hair, the spirals of frost on the top of the outer wall. Jack smiles; it almost counters the fear he feels at being out here. He breathes in and out slowly, standing on the threshold, letting his fear slip away.

He opens his eyes, and steps forward again. The stone floor of the balcony is pleasantly icy under his toes. Setting the lamp down on the floor, Jack sits on the sofa and lays his staff across his knees, resting his hands on it. Breathing deeply, he focuses on it just as Jethryn has been teaching him to do. As much as Jack doesn't like to think about anything that happened on that day, he needs to remember. Jack takes a few minutes to meditate, to clear his mind and focus on how it felt to wield his own magic.

None of the books that he has been reading are specific to ice magic, but the general concepts should be the same. When he opens his eyes, he takes the staff and points it at the wall.

First he lets frost spill from it, trying to control his magic enough to shape the frost. It curls into a feathery circle, and after frowning at it for a moment he tries again, wanting to get the edges smoother. Once he has a nice target, he tries more, tries to summon the frost lightning, but it refuses to come. Cursing softly, he tries again.

Still nothing.

Slumping back against the sofa, Jack feels dejected. Abandoned by his own magic. Everyone abandons him, why _not_ his magic too? And then the cloud cover breaks, revealing a silver crescent moon. His anger and fear and frustration surge and with a cry he tries to focus all of that through his staff, directing it up at the moon. Branching blue lightning bursts forth and hits a barrier around the balcony's edge. There's a mighty flash and Jack has only an astonished moment to realise his success before Ivor whips open the door to the balcony, two guards at his heels, and looks around wildly. When he sees that nothing is amiss he looks at Jack.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“Ah – I'm fine. Nothing happened. I – I just came out to get a little fresh air before bed, and I was swinging my staff around-” He does as his words say that he did, and as the staff hits the barrier there is a flash, but nowhere near as bright.

Ivor doesn't look entirely convinced, but he bows his head and dismisses the guards with a wave of his hand. “Please be careful. This barrier is only to keep invaders out, not to keep you in. If you were to fall-”

“I won't fall,” Jack says quickly – all he needs is for Ivor to mention that to Pitch and gods know how he'd overreact to that. “I'll be more careful from now on.”

Ivor nods. “Then I'll leave you to get into bed. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. Thank you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

As soon as Ivor is gone, a wide grin spreads across Jack's face. He did it! And if he did it once, he can do it again. 

Aiming at a corner of the balcony where wall and floor meet, he concentrates and gives a small cry of delight as he is able to summon a crackle of lightning. Again and again he's successful. Laughing softly, Jack punches the air in success. If he can do this now, what more will he be able to do once Jethryn loosens the binding? 

He will be able to protect himself - no-one need to get hurt because of him ever again. The thought aches, and he holds the staff a little tighter. 

Frowning in concentration, he goes back to his practice, determined to perfect his skills. 

===

When he goes to Jethryn's workrooms the next day, before Jack can even ask about the binding being lowered, Jethryn hands him a piece of paper.

"Do you recognise this spell?"

Jack stares at him - why would he know _any_ spell? Glancing at the paper, he sees the curling Selenan sigils but has no idea what they mean. "No. Sorry. Where is it from?"

"The king's guests." When Jack looks at him blankly, Jethryn expands. "The ones in the dungeon."

Jack's eyes go wide and he looks back down at the paper. His feelings towards these guests go from uneasiness about what is happening to them, to a vicious certainty that they deserve their fate. "Oh," he says quietly. 

"I'm not even sure that it's a spell," Jethryn sighs. "It's carved into their skin, on their lower backs. I suspect that its purpose is to prevent them from betraying their master. Even the hardiest of soldiers would say _something_ under the king's - attentions."

Jethryn says no more, and Jack is glad. 

They sit down on the cushions to begin their lesson with meditation, and by the time they are done, Jack feels better. 

“I've been thinking about what you said,” Jethryn says. “About wanting to move on – to lessen your binding and increase your control.”

Jack snaps to attention and he nods, trying not to seem too eager. “Yes?”

“After what happened, I've thought several times about how much better it would have been if you had better control over the wind. You could have flown away, made good your escape. That, I think, should be what we focus on next. So that if you're ever in such a dangerous position again you can save yourself.”

“Yes,” Jack says immediately, everything in him wanting that. He wants to be able to save himself, so that no-one gets hurt trying to protect him.

“I spoke to the king last night and he agrees, as long as we take things slowly.”

“Sure,” Jack says impatiently. “We'll take it slowly.”

A smile brimming with amusement dances over Jethryn's lips but he nods. “Then we will begin immediately.” Jack nods, eager to begin.

It starts with meditation, finding stillness in his mind. It's difficult when he knows what is to come, but after a handful of minutes it gets easier. It is letting go, not focusing on any thought, any feeling. It is seeking into calm, and that is something that he desperately needs. There is something about being in Jethryn's workrooms that helps. It's a place of peace and learning, nothing to do with the attack, or his current problems with Pitch. The distancing helps enormously.

When they step out into the courtyard, it is covered in snow. It brings a silence to the world, and when Jack looks up at the white sky it is like a mirror to the ground.

“You won't be far off the ground, so the snow will cushion any fall,” Jethryn says. “Now. Breathe deeply. Find your balance.”

Closing his eyes, Jack does so, clutching his staff tightly. When he feels ready, he opens his eyes again and nods.

“Alright,” Jethryn says. “I'll use a shadow rope to make sure you don't go too far.”

The shadow rope wraps around his ankle, and Jack bites down on a smile, instantly thinking of Pitch's shadow ropes. It doesn't feel anywhere near the same; this rope is heavier, and Jack can feel Jethryn's magic in it, just as he can feel Pitch's. His amusement dissolves as he thinks on how long it has been since Pitch tied him up. But that, he thinks, is most certainly down to himself. Pitch told him to take the lead on the physical side of their relationship and other than a few cuddles and small kisses, Jack has barely initiated anything. Whenever he does, he sees the cuffs or feels their weight, and thinks how much less Pitch must think of him. Any desire is immediately banished and replaced by a deep, draining bitterness.

“Now, Jack,” Jethryn says, jerking him out of his thoughts. “I want you to get the wind to lift you three feet or so from the ground.”

Taking a few more steadying breaths, Jack does so, and feels the wind respond eagerly. A little too eagerly, for Jack is whisked ten feet into the air, until the shadow rope is pulled taut. Jethryn hurriedly conjures a pillow of shadow and Jack presses on the wind as best he can, making it lower him. It does, though it tugs and plays with his hair and robe on the way down to the ground.

“What you feel now is companionship with the wind,” Jethryn says. “You have to exert mastery over it.”

Chewing his lip, Jack nods. He understands. He's done it before, when the wind is all aflutter and all it wants to do is play with the basket of leaves when he only wants it to move one. It's a coldness that he finds inside him, an icy core that he finds strength in, and he uses that to press the winds into following his command. Tapping into that coldness now, he touches the wind, and it instantly obeys, lifting him three feet up in the air.

“Good,” Jethryn says. “Now, circle the courtyard.”

Feeling foolish at first, Jack does as he's told, determination overriding his embarrassment. But he quickly realises that it's _fun_ , and with a smile, Jack does it again, a little faster, and lets free a laugh.

It's one of the first times he's laughed since Kal – since Kal-

All at once his control over the wind is undone, and he tumbles to the ground.

“Jack-”

“I'm alright,” Jack says, sitting up and shaking the snow from his hair. “I just- I just need practice, right?”

“Yes; but that's not all, is it?”

“I- I thought of Kal.”

Jethryn's expression softens and he nods. “It is hard, I know. But you can use thoughts of him to strengthen you, to remind you _why_ you are learning these lessons. He doesn't have to be a weakness for you; he can be a strength.”

Jack looks down at the snow, paints a pattern in it with his finger. It is so hard to think of Kal. Can there really be a way to think of him and not feel like all of his breath has been stolen?

“It can be your way of remembering him,” Jethryn says softly. “Your way of honouring him. In our culture, it is thought that the dead return to the stars, and they watch over us. Whether you believe that or not, it can be a pleasant thought; Kal would be proud, I think, to be a source of strength for you.”

The world blurs for a moment, and Jack blinks away the threat of tears. “Yes,” he says. “I want to do something that would make him proud.”

Getting to his feet, he breathes deeply, slowly, until the tightness in his throat eases and he can feel the staff humming with his magic. He pushes against the wind and rises, making three easy circuits of the courtyard before touching down again. Jethryn looks at him with a smile.

“That was it,” he says. “That was exactly it. You'll have the hang of this in no time. Let's try again, five feet from the ground.”

By the time the lesson ends, Jack feels the pleasant glow of success and when his feet touch the ground, he grins widely.

“I think I have the hang of it,” he says, and Jethryn doesn't bother to hide his smile.

“You have made a start,” he corrects, and gestures at Jack's staff. “I do, however, think you have mastered the use of a focus.”

Grinning, Jack grips his staff a little tighter. Finally, something he can be proud of.

===

The next day, Pitch wants to see what Jack can do. He is ultimately the one who gives permission for how much Jack's binding is reduced, and what direction his lessons will take, and so Jack needs to impress him. Though he has been getting better and better in his private lessons, just him and his staff making ice and lightning, he knows that with Jethryn's guidance he could be better still. But to do that, before he is even willing to mention that he has been teaching himself, he needs to be sure that Pitch will allow it.

Standing at the side of the snowy courtyard to watch, Pitch smiles at Jack. Jack smiles back, and lets the wind lift him. It's a relief to find that it's easier to ride the winds today. He feels more connected to them, and while his landing still leaves a lot to be desired, he's graceful while in the air at least. The shadow-rope around his leg is Pitch's today, and it's rather distracting, because all Jack can think of is being bound in Pitch's bed.

Still, flying is a thing of sheer joy. He leaves all of his guilt and grief and fear on the ground, and all that he can find in the air is a connection to the weather and a deep happiness that settles all of his worries. He twists and dives and whoops his delight. The staff is quickly becoming a part of him, something that not only focuses his power but helps him in his fun. He braces himself on it and rides it as well as the wind.

By the time Pitch calls for him to land, Jack is giddy and skips over to him, kissing him soundly, not caring that Jethryn is watching. Pitch smiles down at him as though Jack's happiness is infectious.

“You love riding the wind, don't you?”

Jack nods. “Truly. It's – I feel free up there. Like – like the wind is my friend-”

_Though it's no replacement for Kal._

The thought comes unbidden and drags Jack's good mood into darkness. Grimly he sets his mouth into a line as he remembers Jethryn's words about using the memory of Kal as a source of strength. Pitch sees his reaction puts a steadying hand to Jack's back.

“It's certainly something that will help you if you're in danger,” he says. “And you seem to have a good grasp of control.”

“You're already much better than yesterday,” Jethryn says. “You're a fast learner. And if it's something that makes you happy – gods know after what's happened, you need that.”

Jack nods, still feeling weighed down and a little exhausted from the swing in his mood. “Yeah. It works on two levels. And Jethryn said he'll teach me other ways to defend myself. Please, Pitch.”

“Very well,” Pitch says. “It's good to see you smile like that again.”

Jack can’t help but to smile more. 

===

Pitch wakes before Jack. It is only the sound of him gathering papers that wakes him.

“Leaving without even a _good morning_?”

“You looked so peaceful sleeping,” Pitch says, and Jack wants to yell at him but he can't summon the energy.

“Yeah, well. Wake me next time.”

Pitch nods, and kisses Jack's forehead. “I will. But it is rare that you look peaceful, Jack. I didn't want to disturb that.”

It summons a smile from Jack, and he watches Pitch leave with a sigh. Today, it seems, he is going to feel heavy and listless. He wishes Pitch was still here, that they could spend the day in bed together, cuddling and talking. Perhaps Pitch could have read to him. Perhaps today would have been the day that Jack would have wanted to go further with their physical relationship.

Well. There is time enough for that later.

He forces himself out of bed before his lethargy gets the better of him and he falls back asleep. Taking a bath, he fills it with sweet-smelling oils and reads one of Jethryn's books. When he gets out he is still filled with a longing for Pitch to be there with him, and pulls on a warm bathrobe. Though he doesn't feel the cold, there is still something comforting about it.

He goes back into the bedroom, feeling aimless and not knowing what to do with his day. Lessons with Jethryn are in the afternoon, but the morning stretches out before him, empty. He could study, perhaps; read, or practice his own particular brand of unauthorised magic.

Then he hears voices, and a moment of listening tells him that it is Onyx and Amber. His heart lifts and without even having to force himself, he goes into the dressing room and smiles to see the two of them: Onyx standing, Amber seated, their hands entwined. Though Onyx looks tired, her smile at Amber is so warm, and Jack knows that as much as Amber missed Onyx, the feeling is most definitely mutual. He thinks of his earlier fears, that she might have had something to do with this, and finds them ridiculous. This is _Onyx_. His friend. She wouldn't do anything to hurt him. 

As he steps into the room, they both turn to him and he smiles.

“Good to see you, Onyx,” he says, and is startled when her face turns sombre. She pulls away from Amber and walks over to him, bowing her head. Her eyes meet his, and the guilt and grief there shocks Jack. Before he can think of anything to say, she speaks.

“It is good to see you as well, Jack,” she says in a low voice, gazing at the floor. “I arrived back in the palace yesterday morning, and should have made the time but – I- I've been avoiding this. I want to apologise to you, but what can I say that will make anything right?”

“Apologise? What for?”

“Pitch entrusted your care to me, and look what happened. You are hurt, and Kal-” Her face crumples but only for a moment. Amber comes over to put a hand on her arm; Onyx breathes deeply, once, twice. The tension in her shoulders visibly eases. When she opens her eyes, they are full of sadness, and there's a twist to her lips that makes Jack's heart hurt to see. “Kal was a good man, and a hero. Umbra is a darker place without him in it.”

The world blurs as Jack's eyes swim, and he bows his head, startled at the strength of grief that he had thought faded. _Yes!_ he wants to wail. The world is poorer and Jack's life is emptier. Some days, he almost forgets. When there is a knock at the door, he will expect Kal to enter and the sudden knowledge that it can't be, ever again, leaves him feeling a terrible, hollow bleakness. He nods at Onyx and wipes at his eyes.

“And for you yourself,” Onyx says. “I apologise for that most of all. If there is ever anything I can do to make it up to you, anything at all, please just let me know.”

“I don't blame you for what happened,” Jack says, still startled by the apology. “Why would I?”

“Pitch left me in charge of your safety, and I failed him, and you. How could you not blame me?”

“Because it wasn't your fault.”

“Amber has told me how you blame Pitch but truly the blame is on me-”

“I- I know it's not his fault. Not really. I just want someone to blame. We don't even know who the soldiers were, never mind who sent them. I'm just – angry.” He shakes his head. “But I don't blame you. If it makes you feel any better, I accept your apology.”

“It does make me feel better,” Onyx says. “And thank you, Jack.”

Amber hands Jack a pile of clothes - grey trousers and a long black tunic that falls to mid-thigh. Around the hem there is a spiralling pattern in silver beads. It is both comfortable and beautiful, and Jack doesn't miss that Amber has chosen carefully to make him feel attractive. He smiles at her, and she smiles back. 

"It is good to be back," Onyx says. "As well as missing you all, it was fiercely cold in the north. Snowbanks four feet deep are only fun for so long. "

"They sound pretty fun to me," Jack grins. 

"Probably because you can fly now," Amber says. "You can soar above all of us as we struggle through the drifts."

As Jack laughs, he realises that he is happy, a rare thing of late, almost unheard of outside of his magic lessons. 

His happiness grows when Amber takes his hands, rubs cream into them and buffs his nails. A little thing, but it makes him feel special; like maybe the cuffs don't matter so much. 

“Alden is back as well,” Amber says, not even attempting to be casual, though whether she means it as a warning or something else, Jack isn't sure.

He has been spending the last month with his wife, sharing their grief, trying to put their world back together. The thought of seeing him fills Jack with fear, and yet....

He looks up at Onyx. She was afraid of coming to him, but she did it. Perhaps Jack can take strength from that, follow in her lead. 

“I wish there was something I could do,” Jack says. “An apology or-” He shakes his head. Now that he says it aloud he can hear how foolish it sounds.

“There is a tradition,” Amber says. “Of giving the family a square of fabric, embroidered with something that represents you. They are all sewn together into a great patchwork, and it is put in the family gallery as a memorial to the departed, to show how loved they were. I think something like that would mean a lot to Alden.”

“R-really? Even from me?”

“You were Kal's friend,” Onyx says softly. “It would mean a very great deal to him.”

Jack bites his lip, thinking. He fears Alden's reaction, but he feels he needs to offer him something. And the thought of this patchwork being completed without anything of Jack's, as though he doesn't care – that stirs panic within him.

“Do you have some materials I could use? Silk, maybe - or is there a specific fabric I need to use?”

"I can bring you a selection of silks. If you like I can teach you to sew-"

"I know already - my nursemaid taught me when I was younger."

Amber laughs and claps her hands in delight. "And you've been keeping this secret from me all this time!"

Over the next few days she comes to him often, first bringing silks and threads for him to choose from, and paper to help him work out his designs. Before working on the fine blue silk that he's chosen, he practices on rougher fabrics and threads, wanting to be sure that his complex design will be perfect when he embroiders the silk.

Amber sits with him, working on embroidery of her own, and Jack feels that she's truly forgiven him for his thoughtless words. But then she seems so much happier since Onyx returned, like a shade over the brightness of her smile has been lifted.

Sometimes Jack sews on his own, when everything else is too much. It's a focus, just as the staff is a focus. Whenever painful thoughts of Kal, or his problems with Pitch get too much, the sewing banishes these thoughts and takes away the weight of his worries.

This is for Kal, a tribute to him, and Jack wants it to be the very best it can be. And so he throws his all into it, concentrating on every single stitch until at last it is done.

He shows it to Amber, and she inspects it with an approving nod.

“Do you think it's good enough?” He asks her.

“Do _you_? Would you be proud to give this to Kal in person?”

Jack thinks of all the hours he's spent on it, of how much hard work he's put into it, and of how beautiful it looks, snowflakes made of white and silver threads. “Yes. I would.”

“Then it's good enough.”

===

This is one of the hardest things that Jack has ever had to do. Everything in him is screaming at him to turn back.

But this is one thing that Jack knows he has to do.

Two of the ever-present guards trail after him, and Onyx is by his side. She knows what he is doing; she must know how hard it is for him. Jack is grateful for both her silence and her companionship. It makes it harder to run away, and makes it easier to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

And then she stops before a door. “Here,” she says, and stands aside.

Jack moves in front of it, and forces himself to take deep breaths. The night is dark outside the windows of the corridor, and the flickering of the torches make the shadows dance. He's been in this land of shadows for four months now; he should be used to them. The thought makes the corner of his mouth twitch, but the humour falls away almost instantly.

He has to do this, but he would give anything not to.

He knocks at the door.

His heartbeat starts to race, and as much as he tries to control his breathing, it gets away from him. There are footsteps, and the door opens.

Alden blinks down at him. “Jack?” He looks tired; old beyond his years. His shoulders are bowed like he is carrying the weight of mountains.

“Good evening, Alden.” Jack's voice is small and strained, and he opens his mouth to try and continue but it's too hard to speak.

“It's cold out there in the corridor. Please, come in.”

“I don't feel the cold,” Jack says without thinking, and Alden gives him a whisper of a smile.

“No, but Onyx does. Please, both of you. Come in and warm yourselves. Have a drink with me.”

Jack glances at Onyx, who nods. He wishes she hadn't; wishes he could run away. And then he feels guilty for that thought.

“My thanks,” he says, wearing formality like a suit of armour. “That's kind of you.”

“Not at all,” he says, and leads them into the room. The guards stay outside, manning the door. 

The reception room is much as Jack would have expected of Alden. There is a wall of books, and a pile of rolled up parchments on the table. The furniture is elegant but simple, functional rather than something to be admired. “Would you like a seat?”

“No,” Jack says, and shakes his head. “I- I have something for you. Or-” _It's for Kal._ Breathing in deeply, Jack lifts his hands and offers the box to Alden.

After a moment of looking at it, Alden carries it over to the table. He opens it carefully and then stops, going very still and staring down at the contents of the box. Slowly he reaches inside and pulls out the square of blue silk. The silver snowflakes look golden as the firelight makes them dance.

“Thank you,” Alden whispers, lifting it so that he can see the pattern. The silence is thick, broken only by the crackling of the fire. A tear slides down Alden's cheek and he lets it, unashamed of his grief. “Thank you, Jack. That you would do this for Kal- thank you.”

“He was my friend,” Jack says, his voice broken as tears spill down his cheeks. “My best friend here. He was-” He gulps down a sob, feeling so guilty for acting like this before the man whose son gave his life for Jack. “He was always kind, and he always made me feel better and- I miss him. I miss him so much.”

“So do I,” Alden whispers, closing his eyes, making more tears stream down his cheeks. He breathes deep and then wipes at his eyes, folding up the silk reverentially and putting it back in the box. He turns to Jack with eyes shining with tears, but his smile is warm and true. “This means so much to me, Jack. Kal spoke often of how looking after you was more than a job to him. To know that you felt the same way-” He breaks off and bows his head, closing his eyes. “Take a drink with me. A toast to Kal.”

“Of course,” Jack says, though he wants nothing more than to run back to Pitch's rooms and cry.

Going to a cupboard at the side of the room, Alden pulls out a bottle and three glasses, bringing them over to the table and pouring them each a measure of golden liquid that smells like honey.

“There will never be a day when I don't think of my son,” Alden says. “But all of my thoughts will be good.”

“And mine,” Onyx says, lifting her glass.

“And mine,” Jack says with a whisper, raising his in a toast to his friend.

===

The pattern of Jack's days continues: lessons with Jethryn, getting better each time; and then being led back to Pitch's rooms by silent guards.

And so it is that when one of them gives Jack a small smile, he is somewhat startled.

"I'm happy that you are well, courtesan."

"I- what?"

"Oh-" The guard takes off his helmet and Jack sees that it is the one who came with Kal to help him, the one that Jack saw in the healing halls. There is a mark on his jaw, like a bruise, but it can't be a bruise, not after six weeks. A scar, maybe, caused by the Lunanovan soldier's magic. A scar that is Jack's fault.

"I'm sorry," Jack says in a very small voice, and the guard's eyes widen.

"No, courtesan - there is nothing to apologise for. What happened wasn't your fault, not at all. And this is a badge I wear proudly." He touches his cheek and his smile seems true. It's different for a guard to have a scar than for a courtesan. A guard's value is judged on more than his looks. Jack can't stop his glance dipping down to the cuffs and his lips thin.

"I'm still sorry that you were hurt because of me."

"I'm not," the guard says simply. "I was, and remain, honoured to protect you."

Jack doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Instead he gives the guard a tight smile and the slightest bow before going into Pitch's rooms.

Going onto the balcony he starts to practice his magic, making tight circles of ice on the wall as targets and then trying to hit them accurately with the frost lightning. Now that he has more control, it's too easy. He needs to get further away so that he can practice his aim properly. Given that he has always had good aim, whether that be archery or throwing snowballs or even throwing himself across buildings, he doesn't think there will be much of an issue but he'd like to practice all the same. Perhaps it is time to come clean to Jethryn and tell him of this practice. If he sees how much control Jack has, surely he'll relent and let it become part of the lessons.

Jack wonders if Jethryn will be angry with him; whether he'll be impressed with the skill Jack has nurtured on his own. He wonders what Pitch would think. Jack himself is impressed with it, especially considering he has had no guidance save for that in dull and dusty books. Not so helpless now, he thinks with a grim smile.

He freezes when he hears a door open, and relaxes again when he senses Pitch’s magic. Since Jethryn lessened the binding in his cuffs, Jack's found that he's more attuned to people's magic, like he is to the weather; or perhaps he's just on high alert.

Pitch comes out onto the balcony, and smiles at Jack, sitting by his side. "Alden told me what you did for him," Pitch says, and Jack looks up at him. "It was a fine thing to do."

"It was something I _had_ to do," Jack says. "Amber mentioned that it's a tradition of – of mourning, and - I had to do _something_."

“Did it help?”

Jack pauses to consider, and then nods. “Yes,” he says quietly. “It did.”

They sit in silence for a while, and Pitch's hand slides over Jack's. Jack glances down. He doesn't move away. The wind and the stars are their only companions, and their silence is not so much uncomfortable as it has been. Each day that passes gets a little easier.

“Will you come inside?” Pitch's words break the silence so suddenly that Jack blinks at him, confused for a moment. "I have something for you.”

Curious, Jack lets Pitch pull him to his feet and lead him inside to the chaise longue. Jack props his staff against the wall and sits, moving the cushions for support. He watches as Pitch goes to get a wooden box from the dresser and then sits by his side. When he offers the box to Jack, he takes it and studies it. The surface is intricately carved with a complex angular pattern, squared spirals that cross over and under each other. There are runes, too, stylised to be long and slender and elegant. Running his hand over the surface, he feels the gentle bumps and grooves of the inlaid gold.

“What is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

Jack does, and stares. Nestled within, resting on sumptuous black satin, are two golden cuffs, complete with slender rings like his old ones. They are lightly engraved with stylised runes like those on the outside of the box, and where the rings meet the body of each cuff, there is a small, dark blue sapphire.

“My apologies for them taking so long, but such fine smithwork takes time, even at the behest of a king for his courtesan.”

“They’re – binding cuffs?” Jack looks down at his wrists, at the ugly cuffs encircling them. “You mean – I can get rid of these?”

“Of course. I’m only sorry that you had to wear them for so long. But I could see how much you hated the Lunanovan bracelet, and I thought these would do in the interim.” That last is said with a touch of uncertainty, as though he did not realise until now how much Jack had hated them.

“I didn’t know – I thought they were permanent. I thought that... I thought that with the scar, now that I-“ Jack pauses, feeling a fool, and can’t continue. He bows his head and looks down at the cuffs with eyes blurred with tears.

“You thought what?”

“I thought that you only deemed me worthy of these,” he says, touching the ugly cuffs. “Now that I’m not beautiful anymore.”

“Jack!” Pitch’s voice is utterly shocked, as openly honest as Jack has ever heard him. “How can you say that? Of course you are beautiful.” Putting his finger beneath Jack’s chin, he lifts his head so that he can look at him. “You will always be beautiful to me. Why didn’t you tell me you felt this way?”

“Because I thought you didn’t care,” Jack says, barely more than a mumble, and has to look away from the hurt in Pitch’s eyes.

“I care,” Pitch says simply, and takes Jack’s wrist in his hand. The cuff is unlocked and set aside, and Jack breathes deeply to further his control. The golden cuff is put into place and it feels _right_ , light and delicate, proof that Pitch wants him. Once the second one is on, Jack marvels at his wrists for a moment and then throws his arms around Pitch’s neck. Pitch holds him tightly, as though he doesn’t want to let go.

“I’m still mad at you,” Jack says, pulling back for just a moment to glare at him before kissing him, soft and with the slightest hint of sweetness.

“If that’s your reaction to being mad at me, I think I’ll manage to cope."

Another kiss that starts off chaste, but warmth starts to slowly spread through Jack's body and he softly bites at Pitch's lower lip. There's a sharp intake of breath but nothing more. As per his promise, Pitch is letting Jack have control of this. Even though his eyes are burning with intensity, he does nothing more than rest his hands on Jack's hips.

Jack leans in and kisses him again, this time opening his mouth and tentatively sliding his tongue against Pitch's lips. Jack can feel the tension in Pitch's shoulders, suggesting that it is costing him much to stay still and not take control. There's something appealing about that, about Pitch willingly ceding control to Jack, even though he so obviously burns to take charge.

Jack goes slowly, more for the sake of teasing than anything else, small soft kisses. It feels good to tease like this; he can see why Pitch likes it so much. Curling his hand around the back of Pitch's neck, he leans in closer and feels Pitch's breath on his lips. He doesn't close the distance but just pauses, not quite kissing. The hands on his hips tighten ever-so-slightly, but whether it's involuntary or a message for Jack to get on with things, Jack isn't sure. Either way, he presses his hips forward and softly grinds against Pitch, making him hiss. Reaching a hand to the neck of Pitch's robe, he trails his fingers over his collarbone, down his sternum. He hears Pitch's breath hitch and-

He feels a horribly familiar magic, one that sets the back of his neck tingling. 

No. 

_No._

It can't be.

But it is.

The silver bridge. 

“Jack?” Concern is rich in Pitch's voice as Jack scrambles to his feet, grabbing his staff and pulling it in to his chest. “Jack, what's wrong?”

“The silver bridge," Jack whispers, fear stampeding through him. "It's the silver bridge, I can _feel_ it, I can.”

There's a pause, long enough for Jack to wonder if Pitch believes him, but then he shouts for his guards. Two come in almost immediately, Ivor by their side.

“Call up the guard. I have reason to believe we have intruders. Jack, do you know where?”

Lifting a shaking hand, Jack points in the direction where the silver bridge is burning in his consciousness.

“West?” Pitch curses. “The forest. Very well. Gather as many men as you can while leaving the palace well protected. Take Jethryn too. Whoever they are, find them and bring them in alive for questioning.”

The guards bow and hurry away. Pitch turns to Ivor and speaks to him of the wards, but Jack stops listening, swept away by his thoughts. 

His shaking has increased. He's afraid. He's so afraid, but he's so _angry_. Angrier than he's ever been. All he can think of is Kal. That these people _hurt_ Kal. That they took Kal away from him. Part of his mind whispers frantically at him to calm down but he only gets angrier and angrier. How many guards are going to get hurt tonight? How many will die? Because of _him_.

He has to do something to help. He thinks of frost lightning and ice shards, of how easily they come to him now. He can fight. He can't just let people be hurt because of him. And if not fighting, he has to do _something_ -

Fly, he thinks suddenly. See who, and how many. And if they try to hurt him-

Then he will hurt _them_.

Before he can think better of it, Jack runs to the balcony and rides his anger and the wind into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you so so much for all your lovely feedback :3 Your kudos and comments (and notes over on tumblr!) are always very, very much appreciated and keep me writing. Sorry I haven't replied to comments yet - I'm not at home this weekend, but I will as soon as I am :)
> 
> There are some more [gorgeous fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) that you really, really need to check out, including one of Kal that is kind of heartbreaking. 
> 
> And as ever, thank you so very much to Impextoo for the incredible beta job!


	17. Chapter 17

The wind carries Jack faster than he can think.

He has time only for the raging anger that screams through his head, the guilt and grief that are battering like storm winds at the happiness he felt only seconds before.

He sees the silver light of the bridge on the edge of the forest and twists mid-air, readjusting his course. In the dark night it is the only spot of brightness, flickering eerily, and it gets brighter the closer he gets. Raising his staff, ready to defend himself-

“Jack!” A familiar voice and a flash of colour in the sky beside him, jewel-bright even with only the bridge-light below as illumination. It's so unexpected and out of place in monochrome Umbra that Jack stops dead, anger flash-melting into disbelieving astonishment. It can't be-

Tooth darts over to him and wraps her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Jack. I can't tell you how good it is to see you! How much I've missed you!” She's warm, and her feathers tickle; she smells of cardamom, just the way she always did, and that’s what convinces him that it’s real. “But you can use your magic - you can control it! We always thought-”

With a surge of anger powered by a powerful wrench of betrayal, he pushes her from him and puts his staff between them, sparks of frost crackling over its surface.

“Jack...?”

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

She blinks at him as if unsure what to make of his reaction.

"We had to come, Jack," she says, and gestures downward.

Jack stares.

On the ground are North and Jamie, illuminated in the yellow glow of a lantern in North’s hand.

Jack lands and the snow is cool beneath his feet and that’s all that convinces him that this is not a dream, because it _feels_ like a dream, like he's looking out from underwater. His breath comes quickly, uneven. He wishes it _was_ a dream; seeing them makes his emotions roil within him like a storm cloud, lightning-flashes of anger, abandonment, fear. How dare they come here now? His brother and sister, who were never really there for him, leaving him to drown in loneliness. Who could have saved him from slavery but didn't. Who could be behind the kidnapping attempt where Kal was taken from him. 

“Jack,” North breathes, stepping forward and lifting the lantern to better see him. His eyes pause on his collar and cuffs, on Jack’s markings, on his scarred cheek. “Oh, Jack,” he says, his face strained by guilt. He reaches out as though he is going to touch him, embrace him, and Jack wheels backwards, putting up his staff once more. He shakes his head and holds his staff tightly so that North won’t see his hands shake.

“No,” Jack growls softly. “No. Don’t touch me. Don’t you _dare_.”

“I won’t hurt you,” North says, and Jack gives a laugh that’s too high and shakes his head.

“You won’t _hurt_ me? Like you haven’t already?”

“Jack-“

“Did you even think of trying to help me? Even once? Or _did_ you try – was it you who sent those soldiers? Because if you did, congratulations, you hurt me-” Jack jerks his head so that North can get a good look at his scar. “And you killed my best friend.”

“Please,” Tooth says, landing before him. “We didn’t send soldiers. Things have been terrible in Lunanoff. You don't know what we've been through-" She moves to take his hand and with a cry he brings up his staff and is only just able to hold control over his frost. It crackles up the length of the staff and spirals up the ridges, sparks of icy-cold lightning jumping to her and making her jerk back and stare at him with wide eyes.

“I don't know what _you've_ been through? What about what I've been through?" He takes a breath, tries to rein in his anger but it bucks and twists and slips out of his grasp. “You don't care about that, do you? You don't care about me - you never have.”

“Jack, I care,” Jamie says, and pushes Tooth aside. He’s taller, Jack thinks, and he has a scar on his lip that wasn’t there before. He’s lost weight too, but he’s Jamie, he’s _Jamie_ , the only one who tried to help him, the only one who’s ever cared about him. And yet Jack’s afraid to listen; afraid to hug him or smile at him or anything at all. What happened to Kal happened because of Jack, and if anything like that happened to Jamie-

But then Jamie takes the choice out of his hands and steps forward, pulling him into his arms and holding him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Jack. I tried to help you. I tried to stop them from sending you. When I think about what the Nightmare King must have put you through, and we _let_ him do it.“

“No,” Jack whispers, giving in and leaning into Jamie’s touch. “He’s not like that. Pitch isn’t like that. He’s a good man. He’s treated me well.” Another laugh, even more broken than before. “Better than anyone in Lunanoff ever did. Except you.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” Jamie says, and pulls back far enough so that he can look at Jack with gentle eyes. Jack’s breath catches as he looks into them, and an old, half-forgotten feeling flutters in his chest. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You don’t have to suffer the Nightmare King’s touch anymore. I promise. We’ll get you out of that collar-”

And then Jack senses a surge of Pitch's magic at the same time that Jamie is snatched away from him.

Thick, dark shadows like gnarled branches wrap around Jamie, holding him in the air. One is around his throat and Jamie scrabbles at it as it chokes the air from him.

Spinning, Jack sees Pitch still half enveloped in the darkness between the trees. He’s _furious_ , frighteningly so, but Jack doesn’t hesitate.

“Pitch, please, let him go,” he cries, grabbing Pitch’s hands. “Please - you’re going to kill him.”

“That’s the idea,” Pitch snarls. Tooth flits down to Jamie’s side, hacking uselessly at the shadows with her sword. When it does nothing, she turns her attentions to Pitch instead.

“Let him go, Nightmare King! He’s done nothing to you!” She points her sword at him - a mistake. A belt of shadow wraps around her ankle and throws her to the ground. The sword skitters away and she gasps for breath, winded. Lengths of shadow wrap around her, binding her wings to her back. She cries out and tears at them, trying to free herself.

“He attacked my courtesan,” Pitch says, trying to push Jack behind him. “Not to mention that he - and you - came into my lands without my leave. This is an act of war.”

“That was not our intent,” North says, trying to free Jamie. “Please, King Pitch-”

“Let him go,” Jack begs, holding onto Pitch’s hands more tightly. “Please. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He’s my friend - the one I wanted to see when we went to Iscadin to see Councillor Marek. Remember?”

“All I know is that he is a stranger from Lunanoff who had his hands on you-”

Jack glances over his shoulder to see Jamie’s struggles lessening as he starts to pass out, or worse, and Jack turns back to Pitch with a glare. “He’s my _friend!_ If you kill him I will _never_ forgive you.”

Pitch’s eyes widen fractionally and the hurt - the _betrayal_ \- is clear but for a minute. His expression closes off and he pulls his hands away from Jack. Jack hears Jamie fall to the ground and suck in painful rasping breaths. It was worth it to save Jamie’s life, it was. He can’t regret it. Not even with the gulf of distance that lies between Pitch and Jack right now. That can be mended, Jack thinks. Pitch will come to understand. And he’s already forgiven Jack for a month’s worth of indiscretions, what’s one more?

He moves towards Jamie, wanting to check that he’s alright, but before he can take more than a few steps he is yanked backwards. A shadow is coiled around the ring of his collar, shorter than his usual leash, and it is held so tightly in Pitch’s fist that his knuckles are white. Jack looks up at Pitch, shocked, but Pitch is not looking at him. 

Without so much as a gesture, Pitch pulls the shadows into shapes of men, an army that moves like its bones are broken. They circle North and Jamie and Tooth, fencing them in and looming over them. 

“Talk,” Pitch says. “And quickly. Why are you here?”

“We came here because we have no choice: the silver bridge is locked to Umbra.”

“That doesn't say _why_ you are here,” Pitch says, and his shadow army jerks forward like a pack of hounds desperate to be let off the leash. “And my patience is growing short.”

“We are not here for a fight,” North says, and to Jack's shock, he gets to one knee. A great act of humility for any crown prince, but for a man so proud as North it means a great deal more. “We are here to beg asylum, King Pitch.”

Pitch doesn't speak. For a long moment, the only sound is that of their breath and the wind whispering through the trees. Pitch stands up straighter and lets his shadows creep a little closer. North doesn't flinch, though Jamie and Tooth shift a little closer together.

“Asylum,” Pitch says flatly. “Your people come here and do their damnedest to kill or kidnap my courtesan - your own brother - and you come here a month later and ask me for asylum.”

North reacts then, his gaze leaping to Jack. He steps forward, but a flash of shadow knocks him off his feet.

“Come closer again without my permission and you will die,” Pitch says with a quiet malevolence.

“They – they tried to hurt Jack?” Tooth moves to help North to his feet. She looks at Jack with wide eyes.

“They hurt Jack, killed one of my most loyal guards and damaged my palace. Six men that came from Lunanoff and did all of this, and you expect me to trust you?”

The sound of metal-on-metal interrupts North’s reply: the guards have arrived. Twenty of them, fully armed with swords and axes and halberds. They stand to attention at the sight of their king. Jethryn, guarded in their midst, comes forward. His eyes are wide as they take in the silver bridge, examining the sigils and symbols of it before looking curiously at the Lunanovans surrounded by shadow guards.

“Your highness,” he says, turning to Pitch. “These are the intruders?”

Pitch nods. “What can you tell me of their magic?”

Jethryn steps a little closer but still well away from the circle of shadow guards. “They are reasonably powerful, but they are nothing compared to you, your highness.”

“North’s a smith,” Jack starts, but a glare from Pitch quiets him instantly.

“I did not give you permission to speak,” he hisses, anger seething behind his eyes, white-hot, and Jack flinches at the sight of it. “It seems I have already made a mistake in allowing you to use your magic. Giving you such freedom seems to have given you the misguided idea that you can do as you like. Once we are done here, perhaps I should rebind your magic until you can learn obedience.” 

There is more coldness in his eyes than Jack has ever seen, and his stomach dives towards his feet. Perhaps he has judged wrongly. Everyone has a limit, Pitch included, and Jack wonders with a sense of horror if he’s finally crossed it. “No! It wasn’t that I was disobeying you-”

“You are a _courtesan_ ,” Pitch snaps, rounding on him. As he does, some of the shadow men mimic him, converging on Jack and chittering on the edge of hearing. “And I am the king. You would do well to remember that. I would not tolerate this insubordination from anyone else, and I will not accept it from you. Your arrogance is really quite staggering.”

“I- I’m sorry,” Jack whispers, looking down at the snow, cheeks burning, knowing that Jamie and his siblings are looking on. And the guards - how long until this is spread all around the palace? Jehtryn, too. He has been so proud of Jack’s progress. Now, no doubt, he is as disgusted with him as Pitch is. 

Jack’s heart feels like a stone, sinking in his chest. Can't Pitch see why he did this? That he had to do _something_ \- that he can't constantly have people looking out for him – being hurt because of him? He looks up at Pitch, trying to think of a way to make him see, but the fury in Pitch's eyes makes tears well up in his own. He's gone too far. Pitch may never forgive him for this.

Pitch looks away, as though he can barely stand to look at him any more. He breathes heavily, hands curled into fists. The need to find a way to make things right seesaws with anger - Pitch is overreacting, just as he did with Jamie, just like he _always_ does. What exactly does he want from Jack? To spend so long making him feel like he's worth something, but now at the slightest provocation making him feel like he is nothing more than a slave?

He manages to keep his mouth shut only by reminding himself his siblings and the guards are all watching. Unlike Pitch, Jack is aware that some conversations should not have an audience. 

A moment of silence stretches out as Pitch looks at each of the intruders.

“Explain, and quickly, why I should help you.”

“There is civil war in Lunanoff,” North says. “Ben has taken power and has been killing our people. He speaks of building a new Selena down here on the planet, but we know not where. Perhaps he intends to invade Umbra.”

“With your army?” Pitch looks at him doubtfully, and there is a strain almost of mockery in his voice. “Powerful as your soldiers may be, there are – what, a hundred of them? A war – a real war, out in the open, not one where you skulk about stealing our resources – would not last long.”

North's lips thin, but he continues. “Our army supports Ben - what’s left of it, after he slaughtered those who objected to his takeover. There has been a steady stream of strangers in Lunanoff – I do not know where they are from, other than the planet. He has an army, yes, but they number far greater that the army in Lunanoff. Are you willing to put your people at risk?”

“We have one of the greatest armies in the world,” Pitch says. “I doubt they can stand against us.”

“Your confidence may be your undoing, King Pitch. I have more information. Will you hear it?”

A long pause and then Pitch inclines his head. “I suppose I should hear you out before I make my - decision.”

“Then let us go to your palace-” North gets no further before the shadows crowd in on him, reacting to the spike in Pitch's anger.

“If you think for a moment you are going anywhere near my palace, you are sorely mistaken. Bad enough that you are so close to Jack – but at least with him by my side, I can protect him.”

“Then – is there somewhere else we can go?” Tooth rubs her arms. “Feathers are hardly warm.”

“Do you think I care for your comfort?” Pitch asks, and then pauses. “But perhaps it would be wise to get away from the bridge, and to have you penned in. There is a garrison a few miles away, between here and Iscadin. I want you somewhere that I know to be secure.”

“We don’t have time for this,” North snaps, his patience finally wearing thin. He surges forwards, but shadow men grab him and pull him backwards; flesh-and-blood guards step forward to protect their king, weapons at the ready.

“You don’t have any choice,” Pitch says. “You are in my domain. You are in need of my help. You do exactly as I say, or you get nothing from me - save for a blade through your belly.”

North breathes heavily, his nostrils flaring, but he manages to control himself. “We are at your mercy.”

“Indeed you are. How long will the bridge stay open?”

“Half an hour,” North says. “That is the usual setting when no-one in the party has the ability to open it again, to allow us to do what needs to be done.”

“You had best send a message to Lunanoff then, for you will be gone far longer than half an hour.”

“We need your help _now_. People are dying-“

“Either you come with me and discuss matters on my terms, or you can go back to Lunanoff immediately and I will leave a contingent of guards with orders to kill anyone who tries to come through. Those are your only two options, and I consider them to be generous terms.”

North looks at Tooth and then Jamie, whose neck is already a mess of purple bruises. “We don’t have any choice,” Jamie says, his voice hoarse. “Cupcake and Claude can protect everyone a little longer.”

After a moment, North bows his head. “We do not have any choice.” He removes a device from his pocket and instantly one of the shadows rips it from his hand. 

“What is this?” Pitch asks as the shadow hands it to him. It’s a small, crudely-made tablet of metal with a few gemstone chips and sigils on its surface. 

“It allows us to tell Lunanoff when the bridge should be opened or closed,” North tells him. “It is the best I could come up with in our current circumstances - not up to my usual standards.”

Pitch hands it to Jethryn, who examines it and nods. “It is as he says. A simpler version of the communication device that we usually use to contact Lunanoff.”

“Fine,” Pitch says, and allows the tablet to be returned to North. “Tell them to turn it off.” 

North touches one of the gemstones and it begins to glow; a moment later, the bridge slowly starts to fade. “It is done, King Pitch. Now please - if we must go to this garrison, let us go now. I do not know how much longer my people will be safe.”

Not bothering to answer him, Pitch turns to his guard. “Captain Maris. Send a runner to get councillors Alden, Lita and Brennan, and have them escorted to the garrison. Choose ten guards to stay here and watch the bridge; the rest of you will come with us.”

The captain steps forward and bows. “Yes, your highness. Shall I order horses from the stables?”

“No need and no time. We shall ride nightmares.” Again without so much as a blink, Pitch melds some of the shadow men into horses with golden eyes and flickering manes. One of them comes up to him, bowing her head, and he touches her neck almost affectionately. “They will be the quickest way to get there.”

“I- I’ve never ridden a horse,” Tooth says, looking at the nearest nightmare uncertainly. “Perhaps I could fly.”

“No. You can’t. I’ve already seen the danger in allowing flying mages their freedom. The nightmares are controlled by my magic. All you need to do is not fall off.”

Jack winces at the barb so clearly directed at him. A shadow wraps around his waist and puts him on the nightmare. She feels solid beneath him, and when he touches her he can feel her muscles and her mane; almost as if she is real. Around him, the guards get onto their mounts with only the slightest of hesitation. Watching them closely, North copies their movements and climbs onto his own horse. Jamie does the same though with far less confidence, and Tooth has to pull herself onto the nightmare by its mane, her wings shifting uselessly in the harness of shadows.

Pitch swings onto the nightmare behind Jack, urging her into a canter. The others do the same, and as he glances back, the only person Jack can see is Jamie, his fear melting into a grin as he holds tighter to his nightmare’s shadow mane. Jack smiles, but it buckles in an instant, quashed by the fury that he can feel coming off Pitch in waves, in the stiffness of his arms around Jack, in the coldness of his silence.

Jack considers apologising – but no, why should he? Perhaps he disobeyed Pitch's rules, but these are hardly normal circumstances. Pitch has to understand, but Jack bites down on his urge to try and explain. It would seem like he is making excuses, and fear and anger have worn down the patience he would need to put forward his case. Anyway, Pitch won't listen. He's proven that already.

And thus the journey is taken in uncomfortable silence, neither of them willing to bend or break.

That is far from the only reason that the journey is strange. Most of the guards are highborn and can see well in the dark; the two who aren't carry lanterns containing the glowing mineral, and it is only because of them that Jack can see anything at all. They bob in the darkness as the nightmares race on, surreal and dreamlike spheres of soft golden light ahead and behind. In any other circumstance Jack might be enchanted, but his mind is a maelstrom of hurt and anger and fear.

While Pitch is at the forefront of his thoughts, he is not alone. His family too, here in Umbra, unasked and unwanted. Memories of their last meeting are like clammy fingers in his mind: out on the dock of the silver bridge in Lunanoff, overcome by fear and not a single one of them doing a thing to help him. They let him be sent down here, and all the hurts he had thought washed away come roaring back with ferocious strength.

When he tries to turn his thoughts away from himself, hoping to find something less painful, they land on the crisis in Lunanoff. What is happening up there? What is Ben up to? All these years as his father's councillor and now suddenly this play for power. Or perhaps it is not so sudden. Jack's never had any part in the life of the court. In name his father has the true power, but he has been a recluse all of Jack's life. It would make sense if the real power has been in Ben's hands all along.

Now, it seems, the power he holds in Lunanoff is not enough. New Selena. A Selena without the royal family, or perhaps he's setting up a new one of his own. A Selena without a great many of the Lunanovans who he seems to be killing with impunity. 

The garrison comes into view, a squat and rambling building. Torches burning in front of the building making it look almost like a mirage in the darkness. As they get closer the unreality breaks up as light floods the world once more, showing walls and ground and soldiers gathered before the building.

One stands at the front, his hair receding and short. His bearing is stiff and wary, and the many squares of gold on the breast of his uniform show that he is both decorated and high-ranking. Not a man to cross, Jack thinks.

He bows to Pitch, who slides off the nightmare, letting shadows lower Jack without even bothering to glance at him.

"Your highness," the soldier says. "The runner from the palace just arrived to tell us of your visit. The councillors are on their way. Would you like the war room?"

"Yes," Pitch says as the other guards get off their horses. "And some of your men to guard it."

Once everyone is off the nightmares they melt into the ground or reshape into shadow men, crowding around not only North, Tooth and Jamie, but Jack too, herding him close by Pitch’s side.

They are marched through halls of bare stone. This is a business-like place, nothing more than functional; there is none of the style that Jack's come to expect from the palace.

"Take them in here," Pitch says to the soldiers and then puts a hand between Jack's shoulder blades, pushing him firmly into the next room over.

"Pitch, what-"

"You have a habit of speaking when your input is not wanted. I need to show these Lunanovans my power as king and I can't do that if you're interrupting me every moment."

"I can be quiet when I need to."

"Evidentially you cannot," Pitch says snidely and shakes his head. "No. You will stay here, with my shadows to protect you. If anyone tries anything - if _you_ try anything - I will know, and I will deal with it accordingly."

Jack has to literally bite down on a response to that, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Pitch leaves, slamming the door behind him. Jack is left alone, with six man-shaped shadows his only company. In the lamp-lit room they shift even more strangely than outside, the flickering light giving them another layer of odd movement, lengthening and shortening, swaying, jittering.

Jack goes to the door but he is intercepted by two shadows, who stand before it and block his way. Jack glares up at them. "Are you as mad at me as he is?"

They don't answer, silent as ever. Their only response is to stare down, unblinking, with their flat golden eyes.

From the other side of the door Jack can hear the guards' chatter.

"I wish we could have gotten real horses. Those nightmares give me the shivers."

"You know nothing, greenhorn. Back when the king was first crowned he made those things with nightmare sand. Ride one of those beasts and then talk to me about shivers."

They chuckle, and Jack bites his lip. If he can overhear them, why not what's going on in the war room? After all, it's just next door.

The shadows watch him as he moves through the room, all eyes on him as they move simultaneously as though they share the same mind. Perhaps they do.

On the other side of the room, Jack can hear a rumble of voices. There is a bench against the wall and he kneels on it, wincing at the pain in his leg. The shadows gather around him, but they do nothing to try and stop him. Jack smiles at the flaw in Pitch's plan. Perhaps he cannot speak at this gathering, but he can listen. After all, he is Lunanovan – it is his right to know what is happening to his people.

At first, Jack can't hear properly what is being said. Tooth's voice, higher and musical; Pitch's, deep and smooth, impatience clear in his tone even without being able to make out his words. A door opening, footsteps, and then Jack hears Alden's voice, near enough to the wall that Jack can hear him properly.

“Your highness,” he says, and his voice is tight. “These people invaded our lands once already – can we truly trust them?”

Jack can hear Pitch's response this time – he must have moved. “I do not trust them in the slightest. I've made it clear to them that a single wrong step will result in their deaths.”

“The messenger said some extraordinary things about revolution in Lunanoff.” A woman's voice – not one that Jack recognises. A councillor, he guesses. “And a possible invasion by an army led by Councillor Benard. Can this be true?”

“It is true,” North says, his deep voice easily audible through the wall. “Ben plans to build a new Selena here on the planet, and though we do not know where, it would make sense for it to be here in Umbra, so close to the lands where Selena once stood.”

“These are extraordinary claims,” the woman says. “How do you know of them?”

“It was Jamie who discovered all of this,” North says. “That is why we brought him. Best for the words to come from the source, no?”

“Then speak, source,” Pitch says, and the scorn in his voice makes Jack's jaw tighten.

“It started on the day that Jack was - sent here,” Jamie says. His voice is muffled, and Jack moves along the wall, trying to find a better place to hear him. “I didn't know anything about what was going to happen to Jack until late that morning. I tried to go to the palace to speak to the king. I don't know why I thought he'd listen to me but...”

Jack smiles at the thought. Jamie can be as impulsive as Jack sometimes. He must have known that there was no way that the king would listen to him, but he still tried, for Jack's sake. Though he knew of Jamie’s actions already, it still touches him.

“The guards wouldn't even let me in,” Jamie continues. “That's when they threw me in jail. I was surprised at how many people were there. Nearly all of them were arrested because of something that they had done that had upset Ben – or because they had overheard something that they shouldn’t have. So when Councillor Marek got me out, I decided to try and overhear too. At first it was curiosity, and something to take my mind off what happened to Jack. We always used to climb on the roofs anyway, so this was no different. I just chose different roofs, and listened. And what I heard-“

“What he heard, he brought to me,” North says. “And I couldn’t believe it. I went to my father, which... Was a mistake.” He pauses. “Our father told Ben. What had been happening so slowly that no-one noticed suddenly became a flood. He summoned me before the entire court and named me a traitor, said that I was trying to usurp our father. Said that there was some great conspiracy, and that those who were involved would pay. That was his excuse for what happened next-”

“Which, I hope, will bring us to the point?” Pitch's sarcasm again.

“Yes indeed, King Pitch,” North says, and his voice is heavy with mockery of his own. “From the palace came a great crowd of armed men and women, none of them from Lunanoff. A great many of them, though, had the auras of Selenan mages. I believe that Umbra has a significant population of Selenans, does it not?”

There is silence, and Jack doesn't have to imagine Pitch's response, for the shadows crowd closer to him, reacting to their master’s mood. To protect him, Jack wonders? Or is it more like the closing of a fist?

“Ben said that these strangers were to there to keep the peace,” North continues. “But that is when people started disappearing. Dying. Our brother, Bunnymund, has a network of secret caverns, and we smuggled into them as many people as we could. This warren is hard to break into - but it is not impenetrable. We need your help, King Pitch. Now.”

“And what then is it that you are proposing?”

“I have already told you,” North says. “Asylum. And those of us who are able to fight will fight for you against Ben's forces.”

Jack frowns. Even if they can trust his siblings – and he's not at all sure that they can – they can't trust everyone. North has said himself that there are traitors in Lunanoff. How can he be sure that there aren't traitors amongst those that they've rescued? Jack thinks of falling balconies, of a knife slashing across his face, of his best friend dying, and his hands begin to shake. Will that happen again? Is he ever going to be safe?

“How many people are we talking here?” Alden asks.

“A thousand.”

There is a sudden uproar from a chorus of voices, and the level of noise makes Jack jerk away from the wall. He crashes into the shadows gathered around him and they crowd closer still; too close. Pushing past them, he moves to the other wall, cooling the air to help him calm down. The shadows follow him closely, and he spins to glare at them.

“Just leave me alone!”

There are more voices on the other side of the wall but Jack's stopped trying to listen. This is all too much. He needs to get _out_. He wants to ride the winds and escape all of this. From Pitch's anger, from his own mistakes. From his family, from what's happening in Lunanoff. From Ben and from these damned shadows.

For once, he wants control over his own life.

The door opens and Jack turns to see Pitch walk in, his face perfectly blank, and anger suddenly roars through him.

“If you were just going to keep me locked away you might as well have just left me in the palace,” Jack snaps. “At least there I might have had a little comfort.”

“I brought you here so that I could protect you.”

“ _Protected?_ Is that what you call it?” Jack shakes his head and turns away so that Pitch won't see the tears in his eyes. “More like reminding me of my place. I'm sorry if I'm _insubordinate_ , your highness. I told you before – that's just who I am.”

“You can be who you are without disobeying me and throwing yourself into danger! What were you _thinking_ , flying off like that?”

“I guess it doesn't really matter if you're going to bind my magic again,” Jack says, and the thought of losing that connection with his magic makes the tears fall and he wipes furiously at his cheeks. Amber and Onyx warned him about Pitch’s temper, they _warned_ him, but Jack didn’t pay enough attention. “It's not like I'd be able to do it again. And while you're at it,why don't you lock me up again? But not in those nice rooms. Maybe some tiny little cell like this. Put me in my place.”

“You're being ridiculous,” Pitch says, rolling his eyes. “You've been in here for less than half an hour. Half an hour more and we'll be back in the palace. We can talk about this in my rooms, once you've calmed down.”

“As if you want me in your rooms.”

“Of course I want you in my rooms.”

“No,” Jack says, and turns to glare at him as tears fall down his cheeks. “No, you don't. Because I'm not the person that you like to pretend I am. You want what Ben promised you – a good, obedient boy that would do whatever you said and never, ever disobey you. Whatever image you have in your head, that nice little image that you're in love with, it's not me, Pitch. It'll never be me.”

“Is that what you think of me?” Pitch says, and anger flares in his eyes. “That I'm such a fool as to fall in love with some – illusion? Do you have that little respect for me?”

Jack takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to get himself under control before he bursts into tears. Before he can, he feels something grab his arm. Jerking away and looking down at the same time, he sees that it is a shadow hand and he turns to Pitch, trying to get away from the grip.

“Pitch, stop it.”

Pitch’s eyes widen. “Jack-“

But before anything can happen, a dozen hands explode from the shadows and yank him backwards.

He sees Pitch lunge towards him with horrified eyes-

And then there is only blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I always say this, but thank you so much for all of the kudos, comments and notes on tumblr. It means the absolute world to me and always makes me smile. 
> 
> There's been some more [fanart for this fic](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) (I AM NOT WORTHY), so please go take a look and show these incredibly talented artists some love <3
> 
> And as ever, thank you so much to [Impextoo](http://impextoo.tumblr.com/) for the fantastic beta job and the support. Any errors remaining are entirely my own.


	18. Chapter 18

Fear. Oppressive, all-encompassing fear. 

It presses in from all sides, crushing the breath from his lungs. Nothing but darkness and chittering everywhere, though whether it's one voice or a hundred Jack couldn't say. Shadow hands drag him through deeper darkness, their fingers caressing him, pushing into his mouth, touching him everywhere. Jack wants to cry out but he can't, nor can he move.

This isn't Pitch, Jack thinks wildly. It's nothing like travelling through the shadows with Pitch. And Pitch wouldn't do _this_ to him, he wouldn't, he _wouldn't_ -

And then Jack is spat out of the darkness at speed, tumbling across a cold, stone floor, his staff skittering away from him. He gasps, clawing at the floor as his mind reels from the unnatural terror that is slowly dissipating, only to be replaced with a very real fear. Where is he?

His head snaps up. The room is dark apart from a few torches flickering in brackets on one nearby wall. The first things he sees are several huge pillars of ice, glittering in the torchlight, and then movement catches his eye. People – five of them. All of this is noticed and processed in seconds, but then he recognises one of the people and his mind grinds to a halt.

Tall, with brown curls and piercing blue eyes – Kader. Ben's son.

Ben, who has murdered half of Lunanoff.

Fear rushes through Jack and he reaches for his staff, but Kader kicks it away.

"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be," he says. "Go quietly and make it easier on all of us."

Jack glares up at him, trying to smother his fear with anger. Fear freezes him in his tracks, but anger - anger makes him act.

_So act._

The temperature in the room instantly lowers as he reaches for his magic. Without his staff it feels like fumbling in the dark, but he can still feel the air in the room and control it. Using a sweeping gesture to help him focus, he raises a gust. He means to sweep Kader away from him but it's stronger than he means for it to be, harder to control, and it hits one of the other men instead, smacking him into a wall. Jack struggles to his feet and Kader glares at him. Before he can speak, the door swings open and a man in armour runs in.

"Kader," he says breathlessly. "Your sister is coming."

Jack uses the sudden distraction to lunge for his staff but the stone of the floor buckles beneath him, forming a wave that knocks him backwards. Kader. His magic is control over stone and rock and earth, mildly impressive on the moon but here on the planet - surrounded on all sides by his element - he’s much more dangerous.

"Where's that damned binding bracelet?" Kader snaps. 

"Here," says one of them men, stepping towards Jack with a thick silver bracelet in his hand.

Panic leaps in Jack. If they bind his magic he'll be helpless. The door is still open and Jack summons the wind, first to knock the man away and then to ride it. He darts out into the corridor – and feels a yank on his robe a second before his head bounces with a nauseating crack against the stone floor. It knocks all the breath from him. Winded, with his head spinning and throbbing, he can barely move. He opens his eyes and blinks until he can focus on his attacker looming over him.

Riann, Kader's sister, and far more dangerous than he is. Silver gauntlets on her wrists begin to glow with runes that shift and dance – they augment her strength and speed. Jack has never really crossed paths with her – like Kader, like all of Lunanoff, she barely acknowledged his existence. But he knows of her. When he and Jamie used to listen in on the soldiers, they spoke of her in hushed whispers, of a mission down to the planet where she killed one of her own men for disobeying her. Whether it’s true or not Jack has never known, but it kept the soldiers in line. 

He throws a handful of ice shards at her, but most of them catch in her leather tunic or smash against the wall behind her. With his magic still dimmed and his head spinning, it's hard to concentrate. She ducks the next flurry and then hits him with two precise kicks, one to the stomach and then one to the ribs. Pain explodes in him as there's a _snap_. White-hot, can't-breathe pain, and for a moment Jack can't think of anything else, not even getting away. When she grabs his hair and pulls him to his knees, he resists only weakly, his head still reeling.

"Hold him up," she snaps at one of the men with her, who grabs Jack's shoulders in a vice-like grip.

Letting go of his hair, Riann reaches for Jack's neck, but instead of the choke-hold he was expecting, her fingers slip beneath his collar and snap it.

No. No no no no-

Jack can’t breathe. His collar. His _collar_ -

Riann pulls back, crumples it in one hand and throws it aside like it's nothing. It bounces on the stone floor with a metallic clanging that echoes off the walls before coming to a stop, still and broken. 

Before he can even react, she closes a twisted metal torc around his neck and instantly all contact with his magic is severed.

"No," he croaks, scrabbling at it, trying to get it off, but it doesn’t budge.

She ignores him and turns to her brother, who is standing in the doorway and staring down at them. "Kader, what do you think you are _doing_?"

"My spy said he was outside the palace wards – I had to act," Kader says. "There wasn't time to check with you or Father."

"This is why we don't let you make such decisions, fool! We knew his magic was unbound-"

"And I had a binding bracelet! Gods, what have you _done_ to him?"

"I stopped him before he could hurt anyone. His injuries are the result of your poor judgement, little brother, so if you want someone to blame, blame yourself."

"You could have killed him!"

"I know what I'm doing. I only used enough force to stop him." She shakes her head and gives Kader a look of pure annoyance. "Now we have to figure out what to tell Father." To her men, she says, "Take him to a cell."

Jack is dragged away by two soldiers, barely able to walk. Everything hurts, and his head spins violently. There's a sharp pain in his side with every breath. It feels like something's broken, a rib, from when Riann kicked him. But even that hurt is nothing compared to the loss of his collar.

It is like the things that mark him as Pitch's are being taken away from him, as though their harsh words to each other are taking physical form. His head spins as he's dragged along, and it's like a catalyst for all his terrible thoughts. Even if he is rescued – will Pitch see him without his collar and think that Jack doesn't want him? Or will he be relieved that he doesn't have to end their bond himself? And if he _isn't_ rescued – what will Ben do to him? Torture him, hurt him – if he killed half of Lunanoff there must be nothing he will stop at to reach his goals; hurting Jack is nothing. And if he can get Jack, he can get others. He could make Jack watch while he hurts Jamie, or even Pitch, and if Ben did _that_ \- Images of it flow through his mind in horrific details, and by the time they throw him into a dark cell, chaining him to the wall by his collar, Jack's nearly hysterical from the panic. He can barely breathe, sucking in tiny wheezing gasps. He rolls onto his side and tries to get enough air, tries to push away the thoughts about Pitch hating him, about never seeing him again, because he _knows_ they're ridiculous, but what if they're not, what if they're _true_?

And then there is a light. A sweet, gentle light that lessens his fears.

He blinks and wipes away the tears to see a figure, chained to the wall by a torc of plain black metal. A boy who looks to be the same age as him, but he doesn't look real. He looks like he is moonlight and starlight bound into the body of a young man with pale, glowing skin, green eyes and unkempt hair. Jack stares at him. He has seen many strange things since he arrived on the planet, but nothing like this.

The spectral boy smiles at him, and despite all of his fears and aches, Jack smiles back. Looking at this boy makes his fears fade, somehow, and become manageable. When Jack sits up, a stab of pain lances through his body and he falls back to all fours, gasping for breath. The boy comes over to him and helps him back up. At the touch, Jack's fears dim further, and despite the pain he is able to go where the boy is leading him: a small, hay-stuffed mattress against one wall, just within reach of their chains.

Jack sinks onto it gratefully, and takes one last wondering look at the boy before his eyes shut heavily.

===

Jack is gently shaken awake from a nightmare that breaks apart as soon as he wakes, but its shattered shards leave him on edge and panicky. Only a dream, he tells himself, but then he remembers where he is. 

He sits up so quickly that his head spins, his ribs throb, and his stomach protests violently. A hand flies to his neck where his collar should be and the grief that pierces him is worse by far than the physical hurts. His collar - the one thing that marked him as Pitch's - and the way that Riann destroyed it so carelessly- 

Tears spring to Jack's eyes and his head pounds in time with his heartbeat, but then a gentle hand touches his arm, and instantly the worst of the hurt and fear dissolves.

Jack blinks at the spectral boy, who smiles at him.

"Are - are you doing that? Is it magic?"

The boy nods but says nothing. He didn't say anything last night, either, Jack remembers. Maybe he can’t speak. It must be magic, Jack thinks, and it’s incredible. By rights Jack should be a wreck, but the boy’s magic is like sunlight, melting away the fear. It seems to get stronger with touch, and Jack reaches out, taking his hand experimentally. More fear drops away, and it's like a leaden blanket has been eases off his shoulders, making it easier to breathe, to think.

"Who are you?"

The boy only smiles, and then glances up, beyond Jack.

"His name is Nightlight." 

Jack turns and sees Kader. He jerks away from the man who forced him here, but the movement makes all of his hurts cry out for his attention, leaving him shaking and gasping for breath. 

"It's alright, Jack," Kader says. "I won't hurt you."

"You brought me here," Jack hisses, hugging his aching ribs. "This is your fault."

"It is," Kader agrees, guilt weighing heavy on his face. He drops to the floor, sitting cross legged. "And I'm sorry. Riann wasn't supposed to be there. She saw you as a threat, she incapacitated you. It wasn't personal."

"Oh, that's good. That makes me feel better."

Kader's lips twitch, not quite a smile. Reaching into his pocket, he offers Jack a small vial filled with a blue-green liquid. Jack looks at it, and then up at Kader.

"It's a potion," Kader says. "It'll numb the pain, help you heal."

"I don't trust you."

"Why would you?" Kader takes off the top and drinks a little. It makes him wince. "There - satisfied? it’s not poison. It tastes nasty, but the priests always do a good job in making it. It'll help, Jack. Take it. Please."

The pain in starting to make Jack feel faint, so he takes it, drinking  it in one disgusting swallow. Instantly it starts to numb the pain. "I don't understand. You kidnap me, let your sister beat me and then come and give me healing potions. Why?"

"I kidnapped you but you have to understand. It's for the good of the people."

Jack remembers his father saying that to him when he was being sent to Umbra. His lips thin. Is this his fate, then? To always be used _for the good of the people?_

"What people?"

"The Selenans. Those down here on the planet, as well as the Lunanovans. My father has been working  hard for years, and he's finally found us somewhere we can live - a place to call our own."

Jack stares at him. "You can't believe that. Your father killed half of Lunanoff-"

"What? Of course he didn't! Who told you that?"

"My brother. North."

Kader shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Jack, but your brother's a traitor. He tried to take the crown from the king. That's what spurred my father into action."

Jack pauses. He doesn't believe for a moment that North tried to take the throne. He's not shown the slightest interest in it all of Jack's life; why would he start now? Jack doesn't trust him, not completely, but he trusts him far more than Kader. And _far_ more than Ben, whose words Kader is obviously spouting.

"There is a war," Kader allows. "But that’s why I brought you here. To convince the Selenans to side with us. You're of the ancient royal family, you look so much like the moon god - people will worship you. And with you on our side, we can stop the war. Think of all the lives you’ll save!"

The moon king’s words again, Jack thinks grimly. Or are they Ben’s, and his father was spouting them as mindlessly as Kader is now? "You could stop the war - tell your father to stop killing your people."

Kader pauses and looks down at the floor. "My father rarely listens to anything I have to say. This, though - this will work! If you just do as he says-"

"And what if I’m sick of being forced to do things _for the good of the people?_ Or did you think I went to Umbra willingly?"

Kader meets his eyes but only for a moment. "No. I - I know how persuasive my father can be."

"So you knew I was forced to do it - did you try to stop it? Or to help me?" Jack is buoyed by a combination of Nightlight’s magic and his own anger to speak more frankly than he would otherwise, and now that he’s started, the words are flowing freely. "Did you try to save me? You talk of saving the Selenans, but it’s just that - talk. You couldn’t even help _me_."

A moment of silence stretches long, and then Kader finally looks up. "I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, Jack. And this, now - this might be another one. But it’s a chance to stop the war, to stop more people dying. I have to take it."

"You’re a fool," Jack says shortly, tired of Kader and his empty words. Either he _is_ a fool and believes them, or he’s just trying another method to bend Jack to his wishes; whatever is the case, Jack wants none of it.  

"At least think about it," Kader says, and stands. "I'll have the guards bring you some food and some more of the potion."

When he is gone, Jack's shaking hand goes to his neck, so bare now without his collar. Ben gave him to Pitch, and now he's stolen him away. Now, when he was finally happy, everything has been snatched away from him.  And what if he _doesn't_ do as Ben asks of him?

Fear and grief leap in him, but when he turns and sees Nightlight's glow, he feels better. Like the day before, he reaches out for his hand, letting the comfort flow into him. Nightlight settles by his side, and with a sigh, Jack rests his head on Nightlight's shoulder.

For the good of the people, Kader said. Where Ben’s concerned, it seems like the only thing he truly cares about is what’s good for him. If Kader thinks anything else, he’s a fool. 

Jack is alone with Nightlight for most of the day, until a pair of soldiers come to the cell. They wear strange armour made of dark metal with a crescent moon over the breastbone. It's a symbol often associated with Lunanoff, but this is not Lunanovan armour. Who are they, Jack wonders? For that matter, where is he? Not Lunanoff, of that he’s sure. He knows every inch of that place, and there are no dark dungeons on the moon. 

One of them unlocks the door; the other grabs Jack by the upper arm and pulls him to his feet. The moment he is away from Nightlight, the fear comes seeping back, little by little, like sand in an hourglass.

"No," Jack says, and the guard frowns at him.

"There's no point telling me _no_ ," he says. "It's the tsar who wants to see you. And you'd better not say no to him, if you know what's good for you."

Jack is dragged out into the corridor. Tsar? An ancient Selenan word for king, and one that Ben has no right to; but any indignation is quickly smashed apart by pain. Each time the guards jostle him pain shoots up his side like he’s being stuck with a hot poker. The guards ignore his gasps of pain completely. The hallways are cramped: narrow with low ceilings, devoid of decoration. There’s a faint, musty smell and there’s no natural light anywhere. A dungeon, or perhaps the whole complex is underground. 

They come to a heavy door of wood reinforced with metal. As it’s unlocked and Jack is pushed through, he’s startled by the change on the other side. Though the ceilings are still low, it’s a world away from the dungeons behind him. The walls are covered with nature scenes - birds and plants; all richly coloured, though the paint is badly flecked and chipped. The art is highly stylised and Jack doesn’t recognise it at all, though the looping sigils near the ceiling are vaguely familiar. 

He’s brought before another door, and when this door opens it reveals a large room, though the low ceiling and the heat from the fire crackling in the hearth makes it feel oppressive. 

There are tapestries on the walls and a large map on a table, but his attention is immediately taken up by the occupants. Ben is sitting on a large wooden seat on a dais, dressed in a forest green robe richly embroidered in bronzes and coppers. So used to sombre Umbra, Jack thinks he looks like a mockery of royalty, so when he is forced to his knees before him he doesn’t mind so much. It’s a farce, a comedy, nothing more. Riann and Kader stand either side of him, completing this royal family. Slightly to the side, away from the dias, is the Lunanovan high priest, bedecked in even more jewels than usual. Were they the price of his loyalty?

"It’s good to see you, Jack," Ben says, with a friendly smile. "I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a warmer welcome, but I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon."

"Why don’t I go then?" Jack suggests. "Send me an invitation with the address and I’ll be sure to return. I might not be alone though." 

Ben laughs with rich amusement. "It’s nice to see that you’ve kept your sense of humour, Jack! But you know, since you’re here I might as well set my plans into motion. They've been prepared for a while now – since you were sent to Umbra, in fact. I would have brought you here soon in any case, once I was sure that the plan would work this time." He flicks an annoyed look at Riann, whose jaw tightens.

So it was them, Jack thinks. They're the ones who tried to kidnap him before – the ones who are responsible for Kal's death. A pang of loss is like a hand squeezing his heart, but it is quickly overcome by fury. "You – you murdered my friend-"

"Your family is always so dramatic," Ben interrupts with a sigh. "Your friend was a casualty of war. Nothing more. But we have you now-"

"And when Pitch rescues me-"

"And how is he going to do that? Oh, I'm sure he'd love to sweep in here through the shadows like some gallant hero, but he can't. He doesn't know this place. One of the restrictions of shadow magic is that the mage must have been to their destination, or at least have a very strong image of it in their mind, and Pitch has neither. So here you are, and here you'll stay. He was a fool to let you out of the wards. But then, he doesn’t know how valuable you are. After all, to him you’re just a whore."

"I’m not," Jack hisses and shakes his head. "He doesn’t think of me like that. He _cares_ for me."

“He fucked you, didn't he? Bent you over his bed and made you scream. Did you enjoy it?"

Jack's face burns hot with embarrassment and he fishes for a retort.

"Oh, Jack, you _did_. How delightful!" Ben proclaims, drawing a snide smirk from Riann. Kader looks uncomfortable but he says nothing. "Pitch probably traipsed around Umbra with you in tow and made you spread your legs for him at each stop. Well, not _made_ you--I'm sure you begged him for it."

"It's - it's not like that-"

Ben chuckles. "It is exactly like that. If he hasn't got you on your back, you're on your knees gagging on his cock. Does he tie you up? Chain you to the bed?"

"Shut up," Jack rasps, shame and anger alternately burning in his chest. "Shut _up!_ He loves me! You don't know anything."

"Oh but I do – I know _you_." Ben smiles lazily, like Jack is nothing more than a child having an amusing little tantrum. "And if there's one perfect word that describes you, dear Jack, it's that you're so terribly _desperate_."

Tears spring up in Jack's eyes and he clenches his jaw, determined not to let them fall. Ben sees, though, and smiles before continuing. 

"But I can hardly blame Pitch for using you. We used you, after all, in giving you to him. And I'm going to use you now. You’re a powerful game piece, Jack, and my son delivered you to me."

Kader’s eyes widen at the praise and he smiles at his father. Ben reaches out to pat his arm, and Kader’s smile grows almost painfully grateful.

"If I’m so important why did you give me away in the first place?"

"To sow discord, of course." Ben crosses his legs and looks down at Jack for a long moment. "Both in Lunanoff and in Umbra. There are those of Selenan descent in Umbra who feel strong connections to their ancestral home, and they were horrified that their king took you as a courtesan - especially with you looking so much like the moon god. They’re a small minority but a vocal one. Their words stir doubts in others – that’s why I gave you away. Not to mention what a risk you’d be with all that powerful magic, if you decided to use it against me. I was hoping to have you in Pitch’s hands for longer, to break you down more, but – well. We have to take what we can get, don’t we? You’re here now, and when you do as I say, you’ll be the perfect catalyst to make those poor, disenfranchised Selenans rise up again King Pitch."

"There’s no way that I’m going to do _anything_ for you."

Ben laughs. "Oh Jack, that's a shame. But what you want is not important. Only what _I_ want. And we have ways of making you do that. Priest?"

The priest steps forward, his robes hissing against the floor, and he bows deeply. "I am at your service, Tsar."

"Perform the spell on our unwilling guest."

The priest goes to a table at the side of the room, dark wood with rust-coloured stains upon its surface and heavy leather restraints on either side of it. From within the folds of his robes he pulls out a small jar of dark purple powder and a sharp knife, the golden handle encrusted with rubies. "Bring him here," he says, looking over at Jack and blinking with small, rheumy eyes.

The guards yank Jack to his feet. He tries to pull away, but the burly guards move him easily. All Jack’s struggles do is remind him of how hurt he is, and by the time he’s over by the table, he’s gasping for air around his pain. Fear races through him – whatever the priest is planning with that knife, Jack is certain he wants no part in it. He reaches desperately for his magic but this collar blocks it completely, more completely than his old collar or the cuffs ever did. It’s like the contact has been severed completely. He is pushed onto his back on the table and the restraints strapped tightly around his arms, just above his cuffs, and one that goes across his stomach.

The priest peers down at his cuffs and reaches for them, tugging on the ring. Jack tries to pull away, terrified that they are going to be torn from him as well.

"The cuffs are bespelled – a binding," the priest says, squinting up at Ben. "It could affect the collar."

"Nullify them," Ben says. "But keep them in place, as a reminder that he is naught but a slave and always will be."

The priest leans down to examine them. He is so thickly daubed in perfumed oils that it makes Jack dizzy. He kicks out at the priest but his efforts end up with the guards holding down his legs. Turning Jack’s wrist this way and that, the priest brings up the knife, and as he mutters a spell, he pops out each sapphire. Jack can feel the difference immediately. he has no more contact with his magic than he did before, but now he can feel the claustrophobic magic of the collar more than ever. Jack tries not to react, not wanting to give Ben the satisfaction, but his lip shakes as he stares at the two sapphires resting in the priest’s palm. Another of Pitch’s gifts disfigured.

"It is done," says the priest. "Where shall I put the mark, Tsar?"

"His chest, so that he can see it. So that every time he looks down at himself he sees that he belongs to me."

"What?!" Jack struggles, trying to get away, but the restraints hold tight. All he succeeds in doing is making his injuries scream in pain. The priest uses the knife to cut open Jack’s robe and it falls open. "No, please, don’t-"

"Have some dignity," Riann says, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "Before you were a slave, you were a prince. Act like it."

He stares at her, but then the priest starts to chant, a low slither of words. Jack tries to get away again, but the guards have him firmly in hand and the restraints have not even the slightest give.

No, _no_ -

The chant seems to slither into his brain, making him sleepy and sluggish, and it’s hard to struggle, hard to remember _why_ he’s struggling. His body becomes leaden-

And then the sharp pain of a blade in his skin. He still can’t move but the pain is as bright as the blood that springs up, the red a contrast to his pale skin.

But then the pain spikes and Jack can't think anything any more. It's not just the slice of the blade as it cuts into his skin, there's magic behind it too, burning down to the bone, worsening with each cut. Whimpers become cries become screams, and there's no room in him for anything but red pain and fear. The pain gets more and more intense until it's unbearable. The priest's chant vibrates through him, his vision greys and he prays that he will pass out. 

He is not that lucky. 

The cutting stops but the pain doesn't, each beat of his heart making it bloom and grow. The priest wipes a hand over Jack’s chest, wiping away the blood, and Jack screams. He manages to focus and what he sees makes nausea crest in his stomach. Reaching almost all the way across his chest are carved lunar sigils, fresh blood already pooling in them.

The chanting gets faster and louder and the pain wrenches Jack away from thoughts. The priest pours a little of the powder into his hand, breathes lightly onto it and then wipes in onto Jack's chest, into the carving. There's a space of one heartbeat-

Pain. Like being trapped in an explosion, like he’s being burned alive. More pain than Jack's ever known. He screams and screams and screams until everything goes black.

He's not sure how long it lasts but not long, he thinks, not long enough. The shadow of the pain is still there, like needles in his skin, but there's something else, a sense of _wrongness_. The black fades to grey and he hears arguing. 

"You said you had perfected it." Ben's voice. A growl. 

"I had, your majesty! We have used the spell hundreds of times with no problem-"

"Until now. You did not warn me of this risk, priest. You assured me that any side effects had long since been ironed out."

"They- they had-"

"Evidently they had not."

"I - I thought they had. We have not had anyone react so badly to the spell in almost ten years. But even if you had known, would you not have gone ahead? The boy would not help you of his own volition."

A long pause. "Perhaps. But this will kill him, won’t it?"

"Yes, your majesty."

"How long?"

"He - he has perhaps a month-"

"Then you have a month to undo this spell and the damage it is doing. If you do not, you will be dying alongside Jack. And as agonising as his death might be, yours will be so much worse. Do you understand me?"

The priest pauses, his breath coming quickly. "Yes. Yes, your majesty." There is the sound of heavy robes brushing across the floor. The priest leaving, Jack guesses, but he has not the energy to lift his head. 

Ben sighs. "He can still be of use. The spell of control might not have worked, but there are other ways to convince him."

"You won’t get him to betray the Nightmare King," Riann says. "Or at least, not easily. I’m sure I could break him, given time-"

"Perhaps. If this is going to kill him within a month, we might not have the time," Ben says, and fear leaps in Jack’s sluggish heart. "But there’s the other reason we wanted him – for the thawing process. I think he could be persuaded to do that. I need to leave tomorrow. Bring him to the shadow chamber then, and we will see what we can do."

"And what do we do with him now?"

"You can get to work softening him up tonight," Ben says, and fear leaps in Jack’s heart, remembering all the stories that he’s heard about Riann’s love of inflicting pain. 

"It would be my pleasure, Father."

"For now - guards, take him to his cell."

When the guards pull Jack to his feet, he passes out again.

===

When he wakes, Jack feels numb. He sits so that he can take a drink when Nightlight gives him some water, but doesn't move other than that.

He is still sitting on the mattress when he hears footsteps. Nightlight's arm is around his shoulders, and the contact is the only thing stopping him from completely breaking down. As it is, Jack's mind feels numbed from the storm of fear and rage and pain inside him. He is aware of it but he can't truly feel it, the difference between standing in a storm and watching it through a window.

"Jack?" It's Kader. His voice is shaking but Jack doesn't look up. "Jack, please - I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to happen."

Jack says nothing; just continues to stare into the shadows.

"I didn't- There wasn't supposed to be a risk. You weren't supposed to get hurt. I mean - I know the spell would have forced you to do things you didn't want to. But - it's for the good of the people." That last is barely more than a whisper, and Jack glances over at him. Kader's hands are wrapped around the bars to Jack's cell, and he's staring down at him with wide eyes.

The words again - those same words Jack's own father used. Before, Kader used them like a shield. Now, it is like he is gripping tightly to the last thing he has to believe in, a slippery ledge that he grasps at desperately, uselessly.

Let him fall, Jack thinks. Let him fall into the abyss of his own naiveté. 

He looks away, but he catches sight of the sigils. The spell sealed the powder into the carvings, and they stand out clearly against his pale skin. His bottom lip begins to shake and his breathing quickens. He can feel this spell inside him, consuming him. A month, Ben said, until the spell claims his life. How foolish all of those angry words he said to Pitch now seem. What a waste the last month where all Jack did was push him away. What if he never has the chance to see Pitch again? Never getting the chance to apologise, to hold him one last time-

Tears prick at his eyes and he clenches his jaw, trying not to cry. He doesn't want to let Kader see that.

"Here," Kader says, and through the blur of tears, Jack sees that he has taken off his jacket and is offering it to him. "If you wear this, at least - you won't be able to see it. I know you can feel it but..."

Jack doesn’t move. Nightlight looks from one of them to the other, and then takes it, putting it on the mattress beside Jack. 

"I'll speak to the priest. See if there's something we can do for now. To stop it hurting, or - or-" Kader lapses into silence. It does hurt, Jack thinks, but he would rather the priests concentrate on finding a way to undo their death sentence. "I - I'm _sorry_ , Jack."

He waits for a long moment, but when Jack doesn't respond, he leaves. Jack lowers himself to the mattress, putting his head in Nightlight’s lap. The comfort his magic brings is too important for Jack to be embarrassed about it. There’s comfort too in simply touching someone. It’s been so long since he was able to touch someone freely; he didn’t realise how much he missed it. 

But for now, he wants to sleep, to escape all of this, just for a little while. But if he has another nightmare-

The necklace, Jack thinks. The vial of dreamsand that Pitch gave him. Unfastening it carefully - he has so few of Pitch’s gifts left - he lays it on the floor beside him. Nightlight looks down at it curiously but says nothing. Instead his fingers move to Jack’s hair, resting softly. Another burst of magic flows through Jack and he smiles softly as it numbs his fears and regrets. 

Closing his eyes, he sleeps. 

But not for long. 

He's yanked out of sleep by a guard pulling him to his feet. Nightlight grabs Jack's arm but the other guard pushes him away, backhanding him, and he sprawls to the floor.

Jack is dragged out of the cell, still not properly awake. His head swims and then there is the feeling of the spell eating away at him, that feeling of _wrongness_ \- like little bits of himself are being smothered with each passing minute. By the time he gathers enough sense to wonder where they're going, they're already there.

A small cell with Riann standing in the middle of it. A pair of manacles hang from the ceiling and the guards fasten him into them, chain his ankles to the floor. They leave, and Jack is alone with Riann. The torchlight makes shadows flicker over her face, twisting her features, making her monstrous.

"Father said that I could have a little fun with you," she says, smiling. "You like fun, don't you, Jack?" And she punches him in the stomach. Pain lights up like a lightning storm across his ribs. He gasps as the world shrinks, until he's aware of nothing but his agony.

" _I_ like fun," she says, and this time hits him directly on the ribs with the flat of her palm. He screams as agony washes over him, white spots flashing across his vision.

He sags in the restraints, riding the waves of pain until they ebb away to bearable levels – which is when she hits him again in the same spot. He screams again and can’t stop shaking even when the pain fades. He has to get out of here, someone has to help him, they have to - but there is no-one.

Riann grabs his chin and a small, scared noise escapes him. It makes her smile. She angles his face so that she can look at his scarred cheek, and frowns.

"I was a fool to let Tarett choose his own team when I tasked him with bringing you back to Lunanoff. All of that planning gone to waste." Her lips thin as she glares at him, her nails digging into his cheek. "Do you know how it feels to have Kader do something that I could not? He has never done _anything_ better than me, other than having stronger magic – and even then he's never had the courage to truly master it. But in everything else he's nothing. Less than nothing. But now Father is looking at him again, wondering if his coward of a son might be worth something after all."

The door swings open behind her and she turns to glare at the guard who enters.

"Tsarevna Riann, your father wishes to see you."

Riann pauses for a moment, then turns back to Jack. She hits him in the ribs one last time, and the white-hot explosion of pain fades to black. 

===

This time he wakes with his head in Nightlight's lap. Everything hurts, badly, and when he tries to sit up, he nearly passes out again. Nightlight steadies him, and hands him a vial of the blue-green potion. Another gift from Kader, Jack thinks, but pain overcomes pride. He swallows it down and leans back against the wall, closing his eyes and breathing deeply as he waits for the pain to ease.

"So what's your story?" Jack asks Nightlight as the worst of the hurt begins to fade. He gets only a mischievous grin in return. "I'm guessing it must be pretty bad for Ben to have put you in here – but he needs you alive for some reason." A pause, and then he gives a grin of his own. "Riann's betrothed?"

Nightlight grimaces, and Jack laughs softly. Though it hurts his ribs, the laughter soothes his soul.

"Whyever you're here, I'm glad. If it wasn't for your magic-" Just the thought of how panicked he would be makes Jack's heart race. And yet...

They can't control him. They've tried to bespell him, they've started torturing him, but he won't bend to their wishes. He is still in control here. The thought makes him smile a little, and though Nightlight can't know why he is smiling, he returns it warmly.

Moving carefully to minimise his aches, Jack shifts so that the whole of his right side is pressed against Nightlight. His magic flows into Jack and with a sigh, he relaxes.

"I’d guess that you're some sort of hero," Jack says. "Some knight who rescues maidens and princes from terrible fates. Or maybe you're from the stars, like Pitch..."

The thought of Pitch hurts more than his physical pains, and the panic that Jack had thought numbed by Nightlight's magic comes roaring back to life.

_No,_ Jack tells himself. _I_ will _see him again. I can escape. Me and Nightlight, we can escape together_.

Once more his thoughts are interrupted by the guards swinging open the door to their cell, a sound that he’s growing to hate.

"Right, you," says one of them, pointing at Jack. "You're coming with us."

As one of them grabs Jack, Nightlight springs to his feet and flings the empty water cup at the other one. It hits him on the nose and bounces off, clattering away in the corner.

The guard whirls on Nightlight with a roar, one hand to his bloody nose. He lunges and tries to grab Nightlight, but his quarry dances out of the way. He moves so gracefully, almost like his feet aren't touching the floor. The fluidity of his movements make Jack think of flying and there's a pang in his heart as his mind jumps from his magic, to being bound, to the loss of his collar.

Graceful as he is, there is nowhere to run on so short a tether, and when the guard finally gets hold of Nightlight he backhands him, hard, across the face. Nightlight only grins again. 

"You little shit," the guard roars, and moves to strike him again. 

"It's okay," Jack says, struggling to his feet and gasping at the pain, at how badly his head spins. "I’ll go with you." They're going to end up taking him anyway - there seems little point in letting Nightlight get hurt as well. He touches Nightlight's shoulder, and is grateful for the tiny spark of courage that passes between them.

Nightlight looks at him for a long moment and then nods, giving him a grin. It's warm and bright, and Jack can't help but smile back. That gives him strength too; if he can still smile, there's still hope.

The guard looks at him suspiciously but nods gruffly.

"Come on then," he says, and pushes Jack through the door.

He is marched a different way than yesterday, down more maze-like corridors.

He tries to memorise the way. If he gets a chance to escape, he has to take it. Even if the attempt kills him - better that than waiting for the spell to claim him. 

_You can escape_ , he tells himself. _You can escape, you can escape_ , like a mantra. 

He's back in the cavernous room he arrived in, the one where huge pillars of ice glisten in the torchlight. Riann is standing by one of them, hands on her hips. She wears leather armour, a sword by her side, and she seems like a caged beast, desperate for the chance to use it. The sight of her makes Jack hitch in a breath, makes his ribs ache, but he clenches his jaw, trying to keep the fear off his face. 

"Finally," she snaps, and Jack is marched over to her.

There is a woman by her side, painfully thin, with her ribs showing under the neckline of her threadbare dress. She looks like all of the colour has been leached out of her, like a painting left too long under bright light. The only spots of colour are the dark circles beneath her eyes and the vivid purple sigils on her arm. Without meaning to, Jack touches his own and Riann's lips quirk upward.

"Jackson. Time to be of use."

"You mean selling me off to Umbra wasn't being 'of use'?"

Her eyes narrow and she slaps him, so hard that he is rocked backwards. Only because the guards are still holding him by the arms does he stay on his feet.

"You will learn respect," she says evenly. "You are no longer a prince. You’re not even a king’s pet. You’re nothing but a man whose time is running out."

Jack glares at her, but before he can speak the door opens.

"Finally," Riann says. "Let's get on with it. My father will be here soon."

The newcomer steps out of the shadows, and Jack blinks.

She's blonde and pretty, and Jack knows her. It's Rikka. The Umbran farspeaker. The one who liked Kal - or who had tricked Kal into liking her. If she is here – 

Another piece of hope freezes in Jack’s heart. She must be helping Ben. He glances at her arms, anywhere, looking for the sigils of control.

There is nothing. 

"Transfer the knowledge of how to thaw the ice to him," Riann says.

Rikka nods. "I know what I'm doing."

"What _are_ you doing?" Jack asks, though he knows, the pieces rapidly clicking into place in his mind. She's Selenan. One of those Ben mentioned, whose loyalty is with the land of her ancestors. "I mean, other than betraying your king. Me. Kal."

Rikka’s lips tighten ever so slightly, but she says nothing.

"Don’t be so dramatic," Riann says. "Rikka, transfer the knowledge. My father needs to travel through the shadows, and if this creature has to thaw out the shadow mage one more time it’s likely to kill her. We can at least squeeze a little more use out of her."

Rikka frowns, and the pale woman looks at her with large eyes. Rikka reaches out for her hand, and the woman lets her take it, not struggling in the slightest.

"Isa," Rikka says quietly. "Her name is Isa."

"I know what her name is; I just don’t care. She’s a tool and so are you - so do your damned job."

Rikka looks up at Jack, her face carefully blank. When she reaches for him, he tries to jerk away but a guard holds him in place, his fingers digging painfully into his shoulders. She touches her fingertips to his forehead and for a moment nothing happens-

And then _everything_ happens. Information being driven into his brain, pushed in like broken shards of glass. At first it's just an endless stream of knowledge, too fast and intense for him to acknowledge. It _hurts_ worse than Riann’s attentions, and he screams. If it wasn’t for the guard holding him upright he’d collapse - it feels like he’s being hit in the skull with a hammer again and again. Blood drips from his nose, running over his lips and splashing to the floor. 

But as it slows the pain eases. Everything slots into place, and with astonishment he realises that he _knows_ things.

Knows how to use his magic.

Isa is an ice mage as he is, and all of her knowledge is now his. She cannot control the wind as he does, but she can create moving creatures from snow; tidal waves of ice; frost lightning and icicle daggers - and now so can he.

Jack narrows his eyes at Rikka; she looks back at him calmly, but there is a twist to her lips, a shadow in her eyes.

_Don't react,_ her voice whispers in his head. _Don't let them know what you know. You're only supposed to know the thawing and freezing process._

_The what?_ Just a thought, but it seems Rikka hears him well enough.

_What Riann is going to ask you to do - thaw this ice. That’s all she asked me to give you-_

_Why do I know more, then?_

_Because Benard is not the saviour I once thought he was._

He feels her sever the contact, and she turns to Riann. "He can do the job now."

"But will he?" Riann taps her lips. "He's already fragile from the damned spell. Can you make him obey us?"

"No. I told you that before. I tried when I was in the palace with him; that's why your father took the risk of the spell."

"There wasn't supposed to be a risk. Hundreds of successes and now this boy risks everything we have fought for." She shakes her head. "No matter. How about if I just ask, Jackson? Within this ice is a mage, and we need her magic. For her to use it, she needs to be thawed out - so will you do it?"

A mage, in the ice? Jack looks at the one they're stood beside with wide eyes. The ice is deep and milky-blue, but within he can just make out the person. The only feature he can really make out is a halo of long dark hair. The ice distorts everything else; whether it is man or woman, short or tall, Jack cannot tell. 

But he knows he can do it. The stolen knowledge slides to the front of his mind; it is a complex spell - it’s not only the pillar but the occupant itself that is frozen. With the knowledge of how comes _why_ ; it is used when someone is critically injured but far from help - a powerful enough ice mage can freeze them, suspend them in ice and in time, until they can find a healer.

He can do this - but he won’t.

"I’m not going to do anything to help you."

"I thought you'd say that." With a wave of her hand, one of the guards brings over a heavy wooden chair with manacles on the arms and legs. Jack tenses, expecting to be pushed into it.

"Sit," Riann says, but not to him.

Obediently, Isa sits, but Riann does not bother to use the manacles. Isa's eyes are unfocused, her mouth open slightly. It seems almost like she's drugged; the effects of the spell, Jack supposes. Years of being under a spell of control, until all of her personality and willpower crumbled beneath it.

"Father always said that you cared too much for other people, even when they care nothing for you," Riann says. "I wonder if that might work?"

She withdraws her dagger from her belt. Unlike the one the priest used, this one is plain and workmanlike, a hilt wrapped in plain leather and a wickedly sharp blade. Riann looks at Jack for only a moment, and then the blade flashes in the low torchlight. Isa cries out but doesn't move, and when Riann pulls away, Jack sees that she has severed the top of Isa's little finger, at the first knuckle. The top part lies there, just away from the rest, as blood spurts from the wound and oozes across the arm of the chair, dripping rapidly to the floor.

"Oh gods," Jack gasps, stomach tightening and head spinning. He tries to move away but the guard hold him in place. "Oh gods."

Still Isa doesn't move, save for her eyelids fluttering in pain.

"So, Jackson," Riann says. "Will you do as I say, or should I keep going?" She puts her blade against the next finger and Jack shakes his head.

"No, stop!" Jack’s mind reels, trying to find a way to stall for time. "Why - why do you want me to thaw them?"

"Because her magic allows Father to travel through the shadows. He captured the most powerful shadow mage there has ever been," she adds with a hint of pride. "To truly use her powers depletes her energy dangerously - hence why we keep her frozen. Never growing older; never using any of that precious energy. We can't risk her death, at least not yet. This way of travel is so much more efficient that the circles the Umbrans use. This is the _only_ mage who has enough control over the shadows that she can send people through a portal without needing to travel herself. Do you see now why she's so important?"

"So - what, Ben's going to travel through the shadows to kill someone-"

"Don't be a fool. My father is a tsar, not a murderer."

"He's a traitor," Jack says, and gets another slap for his troubles.

"Don't speak of him that way. He is the leader your father should have been, and your mother before him, and all of your ancestors since Jokul. But now Father has power, and he will lead Lunanoff and Selena to the greatness we truly deserve.

"That is where he is going – to meet our allies, who are working with us to create our new home - our new Selena. No-one is going to get hurt, except her, if you refuse." Riann jerks her thumb at the ice mage, whose blood is dripping from her fingers, and then grins at him. "And yourself, of course, but that’s just for fun."

Jack swallows and looks up at the pillar. "But - the shadow mage-"

"It doesn't hurt her. Much. And she can't feel anything when she's frozen." Riann is clearly starting to get impatient, and Jack doesn't have a choice, not really. He glances down at Isa's severed finger and his head spins. His fault. Someone else being hurt because of him. He can't let it happen again. If he does this, just this once, it’ll give him time to think, to plan. 

He needs to escape, but he can’t leave Isa here, or Nightlight. With a glance up at the shadow mage in the ice, he thinks that he should try and save her, too. 

He looks at Riann and nods, just once.

"Good. And Jackson? You try anything, and I will make you watch as I cut off her fingers, one by one. I might cut off yours, too. If you're not going to play the part of our pretty little moon god then you don't need fingers. Or hands. Or eyes. Neither does she."

Riann doesn't say this with relish, or cruelty in her voice. Rather, she sounds impatient. She reaches for Jack's collar. There's a second of heat where it rests against his skin, and then he can reach his magic – but not all of it. It's a very different, more sophisticated device than any of the Umbran binding tools. Rather than controlling how _much_ of his magic he can reach, it controls what he can do with it. He can't summon the wind or make ice daggers, but he will be able to do what Riann asks of him.

"Now," she says, and puts a gloved hand on the block of ice. "Thaw her."

Taking a deep breath, Jack closes his eyes. Concentrating, he dips into that thin band of magic available to him. Thawing the ice carefully, he has to start with the outer layer first and work inwards. It's not like normal ice – there are magics woven into it, magics Jack didn't even know he could use. It's a deeply complex spell and it needs all of his concentration. From his new knowledge, he knows to only thaw the shadow mage's head and shoulders, as that is all that Rikka needs to hijack her mind and magic. When the ice is gone, then the most difficult bit – thawing the person. Jack _pushes_ each tiny frozen particle back into motion, one by one, and then there is a deep inhale as she takes her first breath.

The thawing magic is complete.

Jack opens his eyes-

And sees something impossible.  

Seraphina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh thank you so much to everyone for the comments and kudos! :3 I guess you liked the cliffhanger in the last chapter - I hope you like the end of this one too ;D
> 
> As ever, huge thanks go out to my beta, [Impextoo](http://impextoo.tumblr.com/), without whom this chapter would be even more of a mess.


	19. Chapter 19

Seraphina.

Pitch's daughter, looking barely older than she did in the portrait. The ice kept her from growing up, held her frozen in time save for the rare moments of being thawed.

The door swings open behind him, but Jack can't look away. Seraphina opens her eyes slowly, like her eyelids are heavy. She blinks and looks down at Jack with silver-gold eyes so like her father's that it's like a dagger of ice in his heart.

Pitch will never forgive him for this.

 _Don't be a fool,_ Rikka says, barging into his thoughts. _He will know your hand was forced. But you have to get her out of here._

_How?_

Any answer is cut short when Ben claps Jack on the shoulder. He just entered along with two other men, finely dressed in ludicrously extravagant robes. Jack recognises one of them. Another councillor, Lumen; young and impatient with a sharp tongue. Jack knows him only from seeing him around the palace in Lunanoff; Lumen never said so much as _good day_ to him. He's not saying it now, either. The only attention he pays Jack is a glance at the scars on his chest and a look of disgust.

The other man Jack doesn't know. He's tall and broad, with golden-brown skin and hair dyed blue, shifting to green at the tips. Many gold rings line his ears and there are two in his nose. Though his clothes are extravagant they are very different from Ben's: bright, painted silks and a short cape edged with feathers. He's not from Lunanoff, of that Jack is sure. The man's appearance would make him stand out in any crowd.

"Nicely done, Jack,” Ben says, in his usual friendly tone. It puts Jack on edge and he wants to move away, but the guards still hold him in place. "I hope you didn't take much persuading?”

"Not too much,” Riann says, and Ben glances down at Isa, as if he's only just noticed her. Her breath is coming quickly but she doesn't move and she doesn't react in any way, though the blood still oozes from her severed finger.

"Ah,” Ben says, spotting it. "Oh dear. Still, we do what we must. Rikka, open the portal, please.”

"Yes, Tsar,” she says.

Jack glances at her. _Why do you call him that? He's no tsar._

_I call him that because I value my life. Quiet - I need to do as he asks._

_But how?_

_Seraphina is too young to access her magic by herself, and she would never overextend herself the way we need her to. So I reach into her mind and do it for her._

It takes a very great effort not to stare at her in horror. The only thing that keeps him from doing so is that Seraphina seems to be more awake now. She's moving as much as she's able, looking around the room. Fear floods into her face and she shakes her head. Her lips move but no sound comes out. Jack thinks she is trying to say _no, please_ but Rikka reaches up to to touch her, and Seraphina’s eyes go wide and blank as Rikka hijacks her mind.

With the binding in the torc lowered, Jack can feel Rikka's magic reach out to Seraphina like a tendril of steel, reaching inside her and _tugging_. It's strong, but it is like a single wave in a vast ocean compared to the sudden rush of Seraphina's magic.

It's incredible. Pitch's magic pales in comparison to hers. Or perhaps it's more the way they are using her, making her use magic far beyond the limits of safety and sense.

Shadows coalesce on the wall, creating a portal that radiates power. Shadow hands reach out, searching fingers crawling along the stones. Remembering those hands touching him, Jack's stomach clenches and he swallows down a sudden wave of nausea. Seraphina's magic might keep them under control, but they do not want to help and there is no goodness in them.

"Alright,” Ben says, and touches Riann's cheek gently. "You're in charge until we get back. It should be three days, but I will send word to Rikka. Keep an eye on your brother.”

"Of course, Father,” she says, and bows stiffly. He only chuckles fondly.

"Always so proper,” he says, and then herds his men to the portal, each of them grabbing a shadow hand and stepping through. A minute passes before Rikka murmurs that they have reached their destination, and through Seraphina she starts to shut down the portal.

"Now, Jackson,” Riann says, stepping up to him. "Do you need convincing to freeze her again?” Her knife is in her hand, still red with Isa's blood, and Jack shakes his head. Ben said that he would be gone for three days. That's time enough to plan for something.

 _Don’t do anything stupid,_ Rikka says, a warning note in her thoughts. 

_I can't just do nothing-_

_You can. You have to._

_Why should I listen to you? Kal is dead because of you._

She blinks twice, quickly. _I- That was not meant to happen. I tried to keep him_ away _from you._

Jack wants to shout at her, wants to let out all of the ragged and raging emotions that still boil inside of him. He misses Kal, so much; he's blamed himself, and he _is_ to blame, but so is she. He wants to tell her that, wants to tell her that one of the most important people in his life is _gone_ , because of her. But angry though he is, he knows he has to rein it in. However angry he is with Rikka and however much he doesn't care what happens to her, he doesn't want Riann to see his pain, doesn't want to give her any more power over him.

Closing his eyes, he takes in a deep breath and begins the freezing process.

"I'm sorry,” he whispers as his magic reaches into Seraphina, as she stills and stops. The one good thing in all of this is that she will have no memories of what has happened while she's frozen. Only these few moments of thaw. Slowly he builds up the ice pillar again, little by little, and as he does he makes a silent promise to save her, whatever the cost.

When she is completely encased, he puts a hand on the pillar and looks up at her, barely visible through the milky ice.

"There we go,” Riann says, touching his torc and sealing his magic again. "You _can_ be obedient when you need to.” She looks over her shoulder at her men. "Take her away,” she says with a dismissive gesture at Isa, and then pats Jack’s cheek with a grim smile. "And I’ll see you later. It’s so nice to have someone to play with.”

He’s dragged back to his cell with little fanfare, and he more falls than sits by Nightlight's side. More than anything else he feels _surprise_. No, it’s more than that. It’s shock. Seraphina, alive. Encased in ice and frozen in time for five years.

Jack can barely imagine what Pitch’s reaction will be. How does someone react when the daughter he thought lost is suddenly alive? Joy – and fury for all the time he’s lost. For what Ben has done to her.

Gods- _gods_.

"I have to get her out of here,” Jack murmurs, and over up at Nightlight, who cocks his head questioningly.

"Ben – he’s got Pitch’s daughter here. Pitch - he’s my king, my-” Jack looks at Nightlight and wonders how to explain what Pitch means to him, without just saying _everything_. "We have to get her out. We have to get _us_ out, and Isa-"

For the first time he looks around the cell, _really_ looks around.

It’s wide enough to lie down in and twice as long. No window – there are no windows anywhere in this place. The stones are old and worn, and by Nightlight’s glow he can just about see marks on the walls – carved by previous prisoners, perhaps. Beyond the bars the room extends a little further, offering a place to interrogate prisoners without letting them out of their cell. Beyond, he knows, is a dim corridor, lit sparsely by flickering torchlight and patrolled by a rotation of guards.

Putting his hands on the bars he finds them thick and sturdy, and a quick shake tells him that there is no give in them whatsoever. If he could use his magic it would be different. He could freeze them until they were as brittle as old paper and smash them with a single kick. Which is something he knows how to do now, he thinks with wonder. The knowledge is still settling into his mind, and it hurts to access it - a stabbing pain in his temples when he tries to access the knowledge that shouldn’t be his. But he knows so much-

If he’d have known this a month ago, Kal would still be alive.

His hand clenches around the bars of his cell and he squeezes his eyes shut, breathing deeply around the sudden spike of anguish. Kal died to save him, and here he is, dying anyway. 

Jack lets go of the bars. He can never do anything to make up for that, but he can stop other people getting hurt because of him. There must be a way out, somewhere, somehow. He needs to figure out this place so that when the opportunity comes up, he knows where to go. Ben left through the shadows but there must be another exit - whoever built this place needed a door. Or if he thaws Seraphina, maybe Rikka can use her powers to get them out through the shadows. The thought of using her again makes Jack feel uneasy, but the most important thing is to get her out of here to somewhere that she’ll be safe. And if Pitch can’t forgive him for that-

It doesn’t matter. The important thing is getting her back to him.

Going back to Nightlight, Jack sits down heavily by his side. Nightlight looks at him curiously. For perhaps the first time, Jack looks at him with a clear mind. As otherworldly as he looks, it’s hard to judge how old he might be. Perhaps Jack’s age. Slimmer even than Jack, he’s taller too; it’s obvious even when he’s sitting, with his long legs stretched out in front of him. His pale green eyes are framed by long lashes, and a smile is never far from his lips, even here in this place with no light and no hope. He’s actually rather attractive, Jack thinks, and then barks a laugh at his inappropriateness. Nightlight raises an eyebrow and Jack grins at him.

"It’s nothing. I just have the worst timing in the world.” He sits back, resting against the wall, and stares up at the shadow-drenched ceiling. A passing attraction is nothing. It's Pitch he wants. He's never wanted anyone the way he wants Pitch.

But the same isn't true for Pitch, is it?

"Karine,” Jack whispers, eyes widening. If Seraphina is alive, is Karine, too? Is she frozen in another of those pillars in the ice room, waiting to be thawed? The thought makes tangled feelings tumble through him – a flash of anxiety, a touch of fear. If his wife is alive, what use will Pitch have for him? His reading has told him that a king having a courtesan and a consort and loving both of them is not unusual in Umbra, but Jack can't imagine that with Pitch. All his jealousy and possessiveness – Jack isn't sure that he would be able to share in that way.

It doesn't matter, Jack decides, clenching his hands into fists. He has to get out of here. He has to see him again. And if Karine is alive, he has to take her too. 

But first he needs a plan. He could do with some allies, too. Is there anyone who can help him? Rikka said that Ben wasn’t the saviour she thought, but that’s not stopping her from working for him. In any case, Jack doesn’t trust her. Can’t trust her. The loss of Kal blooms in his chest again, and he clenches his jaw. But who else is there? Kader? Jack snorts a laugh. His options are few and Kader is not one of them. Even if he did offer to help, he’s even less trustworthy than Rikka. There’s himself, and Nightlight, and that’s it. Perhaps he shouldn’t even trust Nightlight, but Jack has to believe that there’s at least _one_ person on his side.

Jack looks at Nightlight. Despite the blow from the guard earlier, there’s no mark or bruise. He doesn’t have _any_ marks on his pale skin, at least that Jack can see. "How long have you been here?”

Nightlight frowns as he thinks. It’s not easy to follow the passage of time in here in the dark. Jack’s only been here a matter of days, and already he’s lost count. Nightlight holds up three fingers.

"Three weeks?”

A shake of the head.

"Three months?”

A nod.

"Three months,” Jack says, letting out a long breath. He doesn’t think he could stand it here for three months. Then again, if what Ben said is true, he won’t have to. Jack looks down at the sigils carved into his skin and the knowledge of his oncoming death is like a stone in his chest. A month, Ben said. A month to get out of here. Maybe less; after all, Ben said that it would be painful. Right now, Jack doesn’t feel too bad, other than the hurts Riann inflicted on him. But if it’s going to get worse as time goes by, then he needs to get out soon.

He tries to settle his mind and think of a plan, but it’s hard to focus. His thoughts keep sliding away from escape and back to his fate. How much will it hurt? When will the pain start? A month. Just a month-

He grabs Nightlight’s hand and intertwines their fingers, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Then another, and another, like a meditation before one of Jethryn’s lessons. Slowly the panic ebbs away until all that is left is a flat and false stillness, a fog that makes it as hard to think as the panic.

He has to think of something. He has to see Pitch again. He has to take Seraphina home to her father.

He _has_ to.

===

The next three days pass slowly, and Jack spends most of his time on edge, expecting Riann to pay him another visit. But he has few visitors other than the guards bringing him meagre rations of stale bread and water. Occasionally a stranger or two, daubed in gems and ostentatious robes will come to visit - Lunanovan priests. Traitors. They’ll mutter to one another about the spell sigils, and then they’ll go away, shaking their heads. As much as he hates them for what they’ve done to him - and for what has happened  to Lunanoff - in this at least he wishes them success. 

The rest of his time has been taken up in drawing a map of this place. Pulling a button from Kader’s jacket, he pulls Nightlight to the darkest point of the cell, the furthest point that their chains can reach, and he starts to scratch on the rock with the little brass button. He draws what he can remember, which isn’t much, but when he explains what he is doing to Nightlight, the button is taken from him and Nightlight scratches out almost a complete map. On the left are small rooms - the cells, he guesses - with a larger room at the top, which must be the ice room. On the right are larger rooms, and most interestingly, a long corridor that seems to go off the map. 

"An exit?” Jack asks. Nightlight nods and Jack grins at him. "I guess having the leader of the resistance on my side does have some perks after all.”

He looks down at the map and feels like they’ve accomplished something, that they’re a step closer to getting out of here, but when the guards come to collect him on the third day, he wants nothing more than to stay in his cell.

He doesn't want to thaw Seraphina – to wake her – but Isa is already in the chair, Riann already has a knife in hand, and Jack does as he's told.

This time when she's thawed she just seems confused and blinks tiredly down at Jack.

 _We have to get her out of here._ He tries to direct his thoughts at Rikka but doesn’t know how. She doesn’t show any sign of having heard him - she doesn't even look at him. More likely she’s ignoring him. 

Rikka uses Seraphina's magic to open the portal, and when Ben steps through with a wide smile on his face, hate sharpens to crystal points inside Jack. If his magic was truly unbound he would- 

What? What would he do? What would be a harsh enough fate for Ben? Freeze him, Jack decides, as he's frozen Seraphina, and let Pitch choose his fate. Though Pitch's reputation as the Nightmare King is mostly exaggeration and propaganda, Jack suspects - _knows_ \- that this is one time when he would truly live up to the name.

"The meeting went very well,” Ben says jovially, all smiles. "We are almost ready to complete our plans. It won't be long at all now. And even though you're not quite the figurehead we were hoping, you are still an important part of that, Jack!”

"I don't want any part in it,” Jack says tightly, but Ben only laughs at him.

"You have it whether you want it or not. Riann, make sure he freezes our little princess and then come and see me in the war room. We have much to discuss.”

A short bow and then she turns to Jack as her father leaves, chatting animatedly with his men. "You heard him, Jackson. Freeze her.”

Once more Jack does, with a heavy heart. He glances around the room at the other pillars of ice. He can see a smudge of gold in the next one over, but the rest seem empty. 

_Rikka?_

Still no response, but Jack asks his question anyway. 

_Karine – Pitch's wife – is she here too?_

_No. She's dead. She fought tooth and nail to protect Seraphina. Fighting the guards, even fighting Riann. She did everything she could and she made herself a liability. And so Benard ordered her killed. Just like he’ll do to you if you don’t behave._

_I’m dying anyway,_ Jack thinks, and touches Seraphina's frozen prison, feeling guilt curdle in his stomach. All of his thoughts about Pitch loving Karine more, all the ways that he was jealous of her. She died for her daughter. She died for love.

Jack looks up at Seraphina. Karine's sacrifice will not have been in vain.

===

It's a strange thing to be in such desperate danger and to have absolutely nothing happen.

It’s been six days since he was last asked to thaw Seraphina, as far as Jack can tell in this place devoid of night and day. For a total of ten, more or less, since Kader brought him here. He and Nightlight have been left alone in their cell, and every moment he expects to be dragged off for some of Riann’s _fun_ , or to thaw Seraphina. 

He paces, trying to think of a plan, a way out of here. Seraphina has to come first. If he can get to her and thaw her - then what? With Nightlight’s help, they can get out together. Fight the guards. Jack’s _powerful_ -

But only if they can get the torc off. And even then, he’s getting weaker by the day; exhausted within hours of waking, and yesterday his legs buckled under him without warning. How many guards can he fight when he feels like this? Even more importantly, how long until he’s too weak to thaw Seraphina?

Something hits him in the back and he spins to see Nightlight grinning up at him, tossing something tiny in the air and catching it again. It’s one of the buttons from Kader’s jacket, Jack realises. While Jack has been lost in escape plans that will never work, Nightlight has drawn a series of concentric circles on the floor, scraping them into the stone with the button. 

Jack goes over and looks down at it. Nightlight gestures, trying to show him how to play the game, but Jack knows this one. It’s simple: everyone stands the same distance away and throws their token into the circle. Whoever gets closest to the centre wins. North showed Jack to play years ago, when he was a child. Jack remembers North’s warm smiles and promises to play with Jack, but more often than not Jack played alone, trying to beat his own high scores.

He pushes the thought of North away, and the accompanying worry of what is happening in Umbra. Just for a few moments, he wants to not worry about anything. Just for a few moments, he wants to forget how deep his dangers are. 

"I’ll have you know that I’m good at this,” Jack says, forcing himself to grin at Nightlight as he goes over to the mattress. "If you think you’re going to win, you’re wrong.”

Nightlight only grins back, and moves to sit by his side. He gestures that Jack should go first, and he does, getting his button on the inner edge of the central circle. 

"I told you I was good at-”

Nightlight’s first token gets exactly in the centre, and Jack stares at him. Nightlight only smiles. 

"Fluke,” Jack says, and throws his second token. It gets closer than the first but nowhere near as good as Nightlight’s perfect throw. But that _must_ have been a fluke, and Jack is confident that he can still win this- 

Until Nightlight’s next token falls just beside his first one, touching it. Jack goes over to examine it with narrowed eyes, and then looks over at Nightlight. 

"You’re cheating.” He looks back down at sees nothing but circles scratched in stone and brass buttons. "But how?”

Nightlight grins at him and puts a finger to his lips. 

"No fair,” Jack says, going over to him and poking him in the arm. "You’re cheating, I know it. Is it your magic? It is, isn’t it? That’s _definitely_ cheating-”

Nightlight throws his last token, and falls beside the others, right in the centre. 

"Oh, that’s it,” Jack says, and throws his last button at Nightlight, who catches it and then throws it at the circles for another high score. He stares at it in disbelief. "When we get out of here, I want you on my side in snowball fights.”

The guards interrupt their game when they bring food, even less than usual. After eating, Jack’s stomach still feels hollow, _he_ feels hollow, the fun of the game faded by a sudden rush of hopelessness. 

He closes his eyes and breathes slowly, deeply. _Seraphina. Get Seraphina out. That’s all you need to do, that one thing. For Pitch._

How things have changed since he was first sent to Umbra. He tries to remember how afraid he was but it eludes him. 

Instead of the Nightmare King that Jack feared, his thoughts are full of Pitch as he really is. Pitch with his gentle touches and smiles, with his fierce protectiveness. With his kisses and whispered _I love you_ s, rare but all the more precious for it.

And the way that Jack feels when they’re together. The pain that can be exquisite sometimes. The feeling that settles in him, a feeling of _rightness_ , of being where he belongs. The companionship and the warmth, the feeling of being wanted that's so ferocious at times that it's almost frightening. Bits and pieces that he's felt at one point or another, they all flow together now, and with no small sense of wonder, Jack realises that he has a name for it.

He loves Pitch. He loves him, and might never get to tell him.

A sudden rush of despair wells in him and he grabs Nightlight's hand to combat it.

"We need to get out of here,” Jack says. "Or at the very least, we need to get Seraphina out. What about your people? Do you think they’re still trying to rescue you?”

Nightlight nods without hesitation. Even though he’s been here three months, he still believes. 

"How many of you are there?”

After a moment’s thought, Nightlight holds up both hands, all fingers extended. 

"Ten?” Jack stares at him. "There’s only ten of you? Why would Ben be afraid of so few?”

Nightlight gestures at himself as if to say _just look at me!_ and grins. But then he points at the concentric circles of the game. Showing all ten fingers, he points at the smallest circle, and then gestures at the bigger ones.

"You’re a small group within a bigger group?”

Nightlight nods, pleased at Jack’s deduction.

Jack stares down at it and then frowns. Large or small, it doesn’t matter if they don’t act soon. He only has a month. Less than that - twenty days, or thereabouts.

 _Twenty days._ It doesn’t seem real. It can’t be real. Twenty days is nothing. He tries to think about it but his mind baulks at the idea, refuses to accept it. 

Before he can spend too much time wrestling with it, the door swings open. A guard strides forward, rapping at the bars and pointing at Jack. "Up, you,” he says. "The Tsarevna wants you.”

Jack tries to concentrate on the way they’re going, tries to picture the journey on the map that he and Nightlight have created, but he quickly realises that he knows exactly where they’re going. The torture chamber. He tries to swallow down the rush of despair but it doesn’t work. He casts around for something, anything, that he can hold on to. It was brief last time, he thinks. He doesn’t have to put up with it for long. He just needs to endure. 

When he is pushed inside, Riann is waiting for him. It’s different than last time. Two large braziers are crowded into the small space, and the temperature is almost unbearably high. Riann watches as the guards restrain him in the centre of the room, heavy manacles on his wrists and ankles. His hands are held above his head and his shoulders begin to ache almost immediately. 

_It probably wasn’t even ten minutes last time,_ he tells himself. _You can do this. You’ll be alright._

"How’s the temperature, Jackson?” Riann asks, coming to stand before him, her hands on her hips. "Father told me that your mother used to hate the heat - very sensitive to it. A peril of being an ice mage, I suppose.”

"Whatever you’re going to do, get on with it,” Jack says with a glare, clutching at bravado.

And then Riann smiles at him, before following the guards out of the room. 

Jack blinks; he hadn’t expected that. He waits, trying to listen for their return, but the crackling of the fire is surprisingly loud in the small room. When they don’t return he tries futilely to get out of his bonds, but they’re tight, uncomfortably so. He gives up and tries to steel himself. He just needs to wait. It can’t be that long. 

But it is. For all his shifting around, the ache in his shoulders worsens, intensifying into pain and then _agony_. He’s not waiting for Riann to return for the torture to start - this is the torture. 

She was right about the heat, too. He hates it. Dehydrated already from so little water, being an ice mage only makes it worse. The roaring fires in Pitch’s palace never really bothered him, for the rooms were large enough for the air to flow. He’s starting to feel lightheaded, and sweat is trickling down his arms. His heart starts to race, though that could be the heat, or the fear, or both.

He has no idea for long it’s been, only that his head is throbbing and his shoulders feel like they’re burning, and his head is spinning - or is that the room?  

Finally, Riann returns, a poker in her hand. 

"Please,” he gasps. "Please, let me go, it hurts-”

"It’s supposed to hurt, Jackson,” she says, slipping off her leather jacket to reveal a short-sleeved tunic, but she doesn’t remove her gloves. She circles him, her hands behind her back. Already a slick sheen of sweat covers her bare arms. "Don’t bother with begging, or telling me you’ll do whatever I want. You’ll already do that, or I’ll cut Isa into tiny little pieces in front of you. No, Jackson - this is just for fun.”

With that she slaps him on the ribs, and pain he’s barely noticed for days screams back to life. 

Next she hits him with the poker. It whistles through the air before slamming into his thigh. Agony rips through him, and he screams. She only laughs. 

"See - fun,” she says, smirking. 

Walking around to his other side, she hits him again. Jack sobs, trying to breathe around the pain not just where she’s hit him but in his shoulders, too. 

_Just put up with it. It won’t take long, just - just hold on. This is better than Ben, than those things Ben said-_

And then she puts the poker in one of the braziers, deep into the flames with only the handle resting over the edge. Jack stares at it, mouth dropping open as he realises what she’s planning on doing. 

"No. No, please-”

"Come now, Jackson, what could be more fun than red-hot metal against the skin of an ice mage? I’m so looking forward to your screams.”

She picks up the poker with a leather-gloved hand, and peers at it, judging whether it’s hot enough. 

"No,” Jack begs, trying to move away from her, gasping at the pain in his shoulders. "No, no-”

The door slams open, and she spins away from Jack. In the doorway is Kader, staring open-mouthed.

"Riann- What are you _doing_?”

"I’m _playing_ , Kader, just like as used to do as children,” she says with a cruel smile on her lips, and then she stalks up to him. "Get out.”

Kader stares down at her, and pauses, swallowing thickly. But then he shakes his head. "No.”

She goes perfectly still and then tilts her head questioningly. "No? Did you just say no to me?”

"Has-” Kader's voice is high, betraying his fear, but he takes a deep breath and tries again. "Has Father approved this?”

Riann blinks, and then her eyes narrow. She doesn't reply, but Kader takes her silence as an answer. He steps inside, flanked by two of his men, and grabs the keys from the guard before coming over to Jack.

There's that guilty look again, the one that might as well just make permanent camp on Kader’s face. He unfastens Jack’s ankles first, then reaches up to unfasten the manacles around Jack's wrists. The instant it's undone and his arms are free, his legs buckle. Kader catches him. Jack wants to push him away but his legs won't support him; even if they would, the pain in his shoulders makes him want to fall to his knees. His breath comes shaking, _he's_ shaking. He has no choice but to accept Kader's help. It's either that or fall to the floor in front of Riann and he refuses to give her that satisfaction.

"What's this sudden interest in helping Jackson?” Riann asks, looking down at the poker in her hands as if considering using it on her brother. She glances at his men and then after a long moment, puts it back in the brazier. Putting her hands on her hips, she glares at Kader. "Is he letting you fuck him?”

Ignoring her, Kader tries to set Jack on his feet, to stand unaided, but Jack's legs refuse to work properly. He shakes his head minutely, so that only Kader can see, and gets a tiny nod back. The supportive arm stays around his waist.

"No, that can't be it – you couldn't get it up. Is he fucking you, hmm?”

"Give it up, Riann. You try to be so like Father, but you're a pale imitation.”

She slaps him, hard, and he rocks against Jack, but keeps his balance.

"One day Father will see you for the useless coward you really are,” she hisses. "And then he'll give you to me, and I will remember this.”

She storms out, and Kader visibly relaxes, his shoulders bowing in relief.

"I'd rather be a coward than be like her,” he says with only a slight hitch in his voice, and he helps Jack from the room, throwing the keys at the guard on the way out. 

It's hard to walk, and every step hurts. He keeps going, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. He's so focused on walking that he doesn't notice where they're going until they go through the heavy door that separates the cells from the nicer part of this place.

"This isn't the way to my cell."

"No," Kader says. "This is the other part of the complex, built for the lord and lady who lived in the castle above, so they had somewhere safe to go in case it was attacked."

Interesting, Jack thinks, and puts the information aside for later. "Yes, but why are you taking me here?"

"I know - I know what Riann's capable of. She's good at hurting in a way that doesn't leave a scar, and it's _obvious_ that you're hurting. I knew you would be, which is why I had a bath drawn with healing herbs."

Jack stares at him. "A bath. You - you had a bath drawn. After everything that's happened - and all of this is your fault. After all of that, you had a _bath drawn_?"

Kader stops, his head bowed, staring at the floor. For a long moment he's silent, and when he speaks he doesn't look up. "You're right. This is my fault. I thought - I thought it would help. Maybe not help you, but help the people. But it's not helping anyone, other than Riann. I've done everything wrong."

"Yeah. You have. You think offering me a _bath_ is going to make everything alright?"

"No," Kader says, and turns around. "No, of course I don't. I don't expect you to forgive me."

"Good. Because I'm not going to."

"I just expect you to get in the damn bath that will make you feel better, and not be stubborn about it just to be contrary."

Jack considers refusing, but then he remembers what he needs to focus on: Seraphina. He needs to get her out of here, and being able to walk will help immensely.

"Alright," he says, and Kader looks up, startled, as though he didn't expect the agreement. He looks pathetically happy and Jack rolls his eyes. "So, where is it?"

"In here," Kader says, and pushes open a door. A pleasant green smell rushes out that reminds Jack of his garden, and Jack feels like someone's reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. There's a bath sunk into the floor, taking up most of the room. Masses of leaves float on the surface of water that is tinted a vibrant green. Steam rises up from it, curling in the air, blurring the brightly painted walls.

"Can I at least have some privacy?" Jack asks, and Kader looks uncomfortable.

"I - I can't leave you alone. Father would be angry."

Jack wants to shake Kader, but instead he shakes his head. "Fine," he says, and pushes Kader away. He only manages a few steps before his knees give out but when Kader tries to help him, Jack pushes him away.

"I'm fine," he snaps. "Look away while I undress." Kader looks uncomfortable again, but he does, and gestures for his men to do so as well. Jack undresses, though all he wears is a tattered pair of trousers. Testing the temperature with a finger, he finds it's pleasantly warm and slides in.

The healing herbs get to work instantly, seeping into his muscles and melting away the worst of his hurts. He finds a seat cut unto the side of the bath and relaxes, groans at how _good_ it feels.

He closes his eyes and breathes in the green scent. It’s almost like a blanket over what Riann just did to him - almost did - and his mind is filled with memories of being in his garden with Pitch, watching the plants transform from their summer greens to golds and bronzes. He remembers Pitch kissing his cheek, or running fingers through his hair, and smiles. Memories of snark and sarcasm make his smile widen.

And then it freezes in place at the realisation that he might never see him again.

Looking down, he sees the sigils on his chest, distorted through the water, almost like they're moving, like a living thing feeding off him, eating him alive. He touches them, feels the raised lines of skin, and squeezes his eyes shut against the memories if getting them. Yanking his hand away, he forces it down to the seat, gripping the edge of it.

Just think of Seraphina, he tells himself. Just think of a way to get her out of here.

"Does that help?" Kader asks from the side of the room. He’s turned back around, and Jack suddenly feels vulnerable in his nakedness, though Kader isn’t trying to look. He gathers the herbs floating in the water to cover himself. At least Kader’s men are looking straight ahead, directly at the wall. 

"Sure," Jack says, ducking his head under the water as though the healing herbs might wash all of the terrible thoughts out of his head. Sitting up again, his hair drips onto his shoulders, and he picks a piece of greenery from his hair.

"I'm sorry about Riann," Kader says. "She - she's always been like that. She likes hurting people. Having control over them. When I was young, she used to - practice. On me. And I- It's just, I know what it's like. That's all."

"If you want a competition to see who has the most scars, I think I'd win."

Kader looks at him and doesn't say anything.

There's a long moment of silence, and Jack wonders what it must have been like to have someone like that as a sister. For all that he hates the way his own siblings ignored him and never spoke up for him, at least they weren't like _that_.

No, Jack thinks. He’s not going to feel sorry for Kader. This is all his fault. If it wasn’t for him, Jack would be in the palace, in Pitch’s arms, safe and unscarred and _not dying_.

"And what happens when Ben _does_ give her permission to do what she wants? Are you going to come rescue me then?"

Kader frowns. "It won't come to that."

"Maybe not. Maybe I'll die before then and really mess up your plans."

"Jack, _don't_ ," Kader says, coming over to the bath and kneeling by the side. "The priests will find a way to help you."

"So that I can help 'the people'? Or so that you can stop feeling guilty?"

Kader closes his eyes and shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything more.

"I want to get out now," Jack says, and Kader nods, standing and going to get a small pile from the side of the  room: towels and fresh clothes. Jack takes them and indicates for Kader to turn around again. 

Jack dries and dresses. It’s clear now that he has to act soon. If Riann does anything like she threatened, there’s no way he’ll be in a fit state to free Seraphina. 

He needs to act, and soon. 

===

The next day, the guards come again. 

A left turn as they leave the cell, then right, then left down a longer corridor. They’re going to the ice room. Horror clambers over him. He doesn’t want to see Riann. He doesn’t want to see Seraphina, to see how scared she is. 

_This is the last time,_ he promises himself, and her too. 

As they step into the ice room, Riann and RIkka are already there, and Isa is in her chair, looking exhausted and distant, like she’s lost in a daydream. Jack hopes she is. 

"Alright, Jackson,” Riann says with a smile, and Jack looks away. "How much fun do you want to have today?” She strides up to him and, gripping his chin in one hand, she lifts her knife to his cheek with the other. "How about a matching scar? Maybe if I cut you up badly enough even the Nightmare King won’t want you back.”

Jack shakes his head. He wants to say something witty in response, but his words are choked by fear as he remembers a glowing poker in her hand. 

"Now, Riann,” Ben says, entering the room with the same men as last time. "A willing and eager whore is a valuable commodity. All Pitch needs to do is take you on your hands and knees so he doesn’t have to look at your disfigurement,” he adds, beaming at Jack. "Because you’re ever so eager, aren’t you? Someone shows you the slightest bit of affection and you spread your legs for them.”

"You don’t know anything,” Jack whispers.

"I know more than you think,” Ben says. "I know how Pitch's guards snickered as you moaned for him to fuck you harder. I know about you sucking on his fingers during diplomatic meetings. I even know about your little toys. Are you really so desperate that you fucked yourself open on the mere chance he'd want to take you? So desperate for just a little bit of attention. Pathetic, really.”

Jack’s cheeks burn and he shakes his head - but that _is_ what happened. That is exactly what happened, too specific to be a guess. 

And Kader mentioned a spy in the palace, didn’t he? 

_I have to warn Pitch._

"Anyway!” Ben claps his hands together. "I’m afraid I don’t have time to chat. Would you do the honours, Jack?”

He wants to say no, but for lack of a better option he starts the spell, thinking _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ every moment. As he lifts the last vestiges of the magic, he forces himself to look up at Seraphina. She looks more awake than last time but bewildered, and Jack wants to reach up and comfort her. 

"Rikka,” Ben says, and nausea wells in Jack’s stomach as Seraphina’s eyes glaze over. 

He has to do something. He _has_ to. This can’t happen again. Ben and his companions go over to the shadow portal and suddenly an idea crystallises in Jack’s mind. Maybe - if he can get Seraphina out while the portal is still open, she can go through it herself - not to where Ben is, but _home_ , because where could she know better than that? But he needs a distraction-

Riann. 

The magic he can access isn’t good for much, but he could freeze her, just a touch, enough to make the guards flock to her and leave him unwatched. He dips down into his magic, but before he can act, Rikka grabs his arm and his magic, hijacking it just as she does Seraphina’s. It’s a horrible feeling, worse by far than the torc blocking his magic. It’s like being choked or blinded, it’s an intrusion, an assault on a part of him that no-one should ever be able to touch. He fights it, but he’s utterly powerless against her. 

_You idiot!_ She hisses. 

Jack is vaguely aware of Riann looking at them suspiciously and calling Rikka’s name. 

_What do you think you’re doing!?_ Rikka thinks, and at the same time she’s saying something to Riann, making some kind of excuse, but Jack can’t focus on anything but fighting her. _What is this going to accomplish? Even if you did get her to the portal, she’s just a little girl, she’d be terrified of the shadow world!_

_Yes, she is a little girl, and she is terrified, and we have to get her out of here!_

Jack tries to wrest control of his magic away from her, to push her out of his mind, but she holds tight. He pushes and _pushes_ \- 

And that's when the pain hits him. It starts with a stabbing pain, right in the centre of his chest, where the scars are. He gasps, clutching his chest. Following the curves of the sigils it gets worse, worse still, sinking in deeper through muscle and bone, right through to the core of him and setting alight all his other hurts one after the other in an avalanche of pain. It is burning, it is freezing, it is _agony_ , whiting out his thoughts, wiping out anything but itself, rolling over him in waves that get higher and higher each time until they bring blessed blackness with them and wash the world away.

===

There’s a dark corner of the cell that Nightlight’s glow doesn’t reach. 

Jack lies on his side at stares into it, trying not to think. But it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t think, because he can feel it, feel every line of every sigil burning. 

He’s dying. 

He’s dying and he’s trapped. 

Nightlight tries to get him to sit up a little, to take a few sips of water. Jack does, but then he pulls Nightlight down to the mattress beside him and presses close, trying to get every bit of magic that he can. 

Because he’s _so_ afraid. All he can think of are the things that he’s never going to get to do. 

He’s never going to be able to apologise to Pitch for all the things he said, or tell him that he loves him. 

He’s never going to learn to forgive his family, or see Jamie again. 

And Seraphina - she’s going to stay here, Ben’s prisoner forever. 

Because Jack didn’t save her. 

All of these thoughts come together, circle in his mind, repeat again and again until he’s terrified and he hates himself and he starts to cry. 

Nightlight holds him a little tighter. Stroking Jack’s hair, he kisses his temple and floods even more magic into him, taking the edge off his fear. 

"I need to save her,” he whispers. But how? He’s trapped, he’s dying, and after what Rikka did to him - does he have even less time now? "If - if I don’t get - If-” Jack closes his eyes for a long moment before he can look at Nightlight again. "If I die, and your friends do come to rescue you, promise me you’ll get her out of here. Promise me you’ll save Seraphina.”

Nightlight looks at him and nods very seriously. Jack has no idea how they’ll be able to thaw her, or get her back to Pitch, but the thought that someone else is there to save her eases him as much as Nightlight’s magic does. Grabbing his dreamsand vial and holding it tight, he closes his eyes and prays for sleep to come.  

===

Jack sleeps long and dreams good dreams. 

When he wakes, he feels rested for once, and he sits up carefully, not wanting to do anything that might trigger another attack. He hurts and he feels fragile, and he’s afraid still; but the sleep and Nightlight being so close helps him immensely. Drinking the last of the water, he sighs and pushes Nightlight back down to the mattress, cuddling up to his side. He closes his eyes, not quite sleeping.

Kader clears his throat to announce his presence, and Jack is almost grateful to see him, if only for the blue-green potion that he’s brought with him. Jack snatches it out of his hand, gulping it down, and puts a hand to his chest, feeling the pain ebb away for now.

"I heard about what happened to you,” Kader says with his usual guilty expression. 

"Let me guess,” Jack says. "You’re sorry. You didn’t know that would happen. You never meant for that. But hey, it’s okay, right? Because you meant it for the good of the people.”

Kader looks away and bites his lip. "Yes. All of those things.”

Jack sighs and sits back against the wall. 

"Can’t you see what your father is doing is wrong?”

Kader shakes his head. "If you listen to what he says, it makes sense. That we shouldn’t have to be on the moon, with no water, little food, no space. Not even fresh air! We should be in our own country, down here on the planet. And the people whose ancestors are from Selena – they should have somewhere to go too.”

"And how did he say he was going to get this land?”

"He – he said he has a plan. And that he wanted me to be a part of that plan. I just - I didn’t know the plan would involve _this_.” Kader pauses, and looks down at the floor. "You don’t know what it was like, Jack. For the first time in my life it was like he actually cared about me. Like I mattered to him.”

A little pity stirs in Jack. Ben used his son, knowing that he would do anything to please him. But in the end, Kader’s choices were all his own, especially the one that brought Jack here. A few self-pitying words aren’t going to fix the damage he has done. "I understand that. But I don’t understand how you could _keep_ helping him, knowing what that plan entailed.”

"I didn’t know. I don’t get told things. I didn’t know anything about what was happening in Lunanoff. I was sent down here not long after you were. Father told me that my magic would be a great asset to us fortifying our defences. Now... Now I think I was just being sent out of the way...” He trails off and gets lost in his own thoughts. He doesn’t have time to get _too_ lost before the door swings open, revealing Riann and two of her men. Jack’s heart leaps horribly, and Kader leaps to his feet, twisting to face her.

With one hand on her dagger she walks towards him, her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?”

"I- I brought him a potion. To help with the pain.”

"And who authorised that?”

"No-one did. But he’s hurting, Riann.”

"That’s the point, fool. If he’s hurting then he’s weak. More likely to do as we ask.”

"But-"

"But nothing, Kader!” She shoves him against the wall and puts her dagger to his throat. He looks down at her with wide, frightened eyes and she presses a little harder, enough for blood to trickle down his neck. 

"Riann, please-”

She looks at the blood welling up against her blade. When she drops her arm and steps back, it seems like it was a great effort. Kader puts his hand to his throat and stares at her with wide eyes. Riann shakes her head as she uses the edge of Kader’s tunic to clean the blood from her dagger. "He’s not the only one who’s weak, little brother. Get out of here.”

She steps back and Kader glances at Jack, holding his gaze just for a moment before scurrying away.

Now she turns her attention to Jack, looking down at him with narrowed eyes.

"The guards said that you've been crying out, Jackson. Have you had another fit, or are you letting Nightlight enjoy your favors? I know my men haven't enjoyed the company of a good whore for some time. Perhaps you'd like to entertain them?"

Jack clenches his jaw, knowing that she wants an angry response so that she has an excuse to hurt him. If she even needs a reason. "I'm no-one's whore.”

The corner of her mouth quirks upward. "You keep telling yourself that.” She walks in front of the bars and then stops, turning her attention to Nightlight. "Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you,” she tells him. "Father refuses to let me play with you, but when his plans are complete - well then. We’re going to have a lot of fun, aren’t we?”

Nightlight only glares up at her, and his glow seems to shine a little brighter in defiance. 

"And you,” she says to Jack. "The priests have asked to examine you. They’re hoping to find something that will help them to reverse what they've done. On your feet.”

Part of Jack wants to refuse, because why should he do anything to help her? But the priests might be able to save him. While they have only their own interests at heart, Jack doesn't really care _why_ they want to save him. Only the result matters. He struggles to his feet, and Nightlight helps him up, though he glares at Riann. She ignores him completely, letting her men open the cell door and drag Jack out.

All of the hallways look alike and with most of his concentration on his aching body, Jack honestly couldn't say if they're going a way he's already been. There's no movement of air that might suggest a way out, or any sign of natural light. It's stagnant and lifeless, and with the torc’s binding firmly in place Jack feels no connection to anything. It's like being back on the moon. He aches for just a breath of fresh air, the breeze over his skin, but there’s nothing. 

They stop outside a heavy wooden door. Riann's hand goes to the handle, but then she turns to Jack with malice in her eyes.

"I hope they do cure you, Jackson," she says. "Because I want many years ahead where I get to hurt you, where I get to learn all the different ways you can scream. And my damned brother, too, both of you." She takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. Jack's afraid of her, but not as afraid as he perhaps should be. She can hurt him, but she can't control him. He touches the sigils, hidden under the tunic Kader gave to him. They can’t control him. 

She turns away from him and opens the door, pushing him roughly inside.

It’s a room, low ceilinged but long. A table fills up most of the space, its surface littered with crystals and trinkets, jars filled with fine powders and chips of resin. Beakers bubble over bowls of pink-and-purple flames. Golden tablets scribed with many sigils and inlaid with gemstones sit beside heavy books with worn leather covers. It's a magical workshop, and four priests are huddled at one end of the room, muttering to one another.

"Priests!” Riann's voice is sharp and makes them snap to attention. One gathers up the folds of his heavily embroidered robe and scuttles over, giving her a bobbing bow. He's young and blond, with pockmarked skin and fat pearl earrings hanging from his ears. He's not the one that carved the spell into Jack's chest, and for that at least Jack is grateful. If it was, Jack isn't sure he'd be able to contain the bubbling panic inside him, still tamed by the memory of Nightlight's magic.

"Tsarevna,” the priest says, avoiding eye contact. "The high priest has asked is to examine the prince-”

"He's not a prince,” Riann says, putting her hands on her hips. "As far as you're concerned he's an experiment. A puzzle to be solved. Nothing more.”

"Ah – yes, of course. As per the tsar's instructions, we are to examine the – him, to see if there is anything that we can do.” His eyes light on Jack's chest, on the vivid purple sigils. "The spell was done correctly – I don't understand what went wrong.”

"That is why he is here, isn't it? So that you can investigate, and fix the problem. Make no mistake, priest – if he dies, you will all pay. We can do without him but it will make things much more difficult, and I will make your lives much more difficult. Work fast and work well.”

The priest nods quickly, making the earrings sway wildly. "Yes, of course, Tsarevna. Please, bring him over here.” He heads over to a chair like the one that Riann ordered Isa into, and he is restrained, wrist and ankle.

Riann stands aside with her arms folded, both of her men behind her. The other three priests come forward, blocking her from Jack's view. Though it was rare indeed for Jack to visit the temple, he vaguely recognises one of them - an older man that used to assist the high priest to perform the remembrance ceremonies for his mother. Not that Jack was ever invited to those ceremonies, but he used to sneak in at the back, or watch through the coloured glass of the windows.

He feels the usual stab of loss in his heart at the thought of her. How different things would have been for him had she lived. As the priests mutter to each other, Jack wonders if he would still have met Pitch. He hopes so. His life would have been so much poorer without having met him. Grief surges in Jack's chest, but he smothers it with hope.

 _I can escape_ , he thinks fiercely. These priests will find a way to save him, or he will escape and find his own cure. There's a desperation in his hope, but he clings to it. He can't die. He can escape, he can get out of here. He and Nightlight will find a way to get out and save Seraphina.

While the priests poke at the sigils, making pain skewer through him, he clenches his jaw and thinks of what Pitch will do when he finds out what Ben has done to Seraphina. Pain and vengeance. Never-ending nightmares, asleep and awake. And it will still be too good for Ben.

One of the priests goes over the table and returns with a thin, sharp blade, many bright gems circling the hilt. Jack stares at it with wide eyes.

"What are you doing?”

"The virena powder seals the spell,” the priest says, undoing the fastening on Jack’s tunic and pulling it open. "If we remove it, perhaps that will break the spell and stop the reaction. This dagger was made on the tsar's orders, to excise the magical markings of our new allies. Perhaps it will work on this as well.”

"No!” Jack cries out, and despite his restraints, Jack struggles so much that Riann sends her men to hold his shoulders and keep him still.

"It's for your own good,” the priest tells him severely, and it might be, but when the blade cuts into his skin Jack _screams_. It's more than just the pain of the knife in his flesh; the spell reacts and agony rips through him. The priest stops quickly enough but the pain doesn't, it continues to tear into Jack like sharp, angry claws tearing away at his flesh, cutting deeper and deeper until it feels like they're shredding his heart and darkness claims him.

===

It would be nice, Jack thinks groggily as he opens his eyes, to just fall asleep once in a while rather than passing out from agony.

He snorts at his thoughts. If his sense of humour is still alive and kicking, perhaps there's hope for him yet.

Nightlight is curled up against his back, his arm over Jack's waist. It allows for maximum body contact, and it means that Nightlight's magic soaks into him. Closing his eyes, Jack breathes in deeply, concentrating on it, on the calm it brings him, shivering as the fear is suppressed once more.

Glancing under the tunic, Jack sees a dressing over the sigil the priest cut into. Whatever the priests tried, obviously it didn't work. But there must be other things they can do. And even if there isn't he has to find a way to get Seraphina out of here. Whatever happens to him, he _has_ to get her out. It hurts his heart to think of her, trapped down here for so long. The only saving grace is that she has been asleep almost all this time; she always seems so dazed when she is thawed and he hopes she remembers nothing of it.

_Jack!_

He startles out of his thoughts. It's Rikka, and her voice is in his head.

_Rikka?_

_Get ready, Jack._

_For what?_

She cuts off contact before Jack can ask any more. He sits and turns to look at Nightlight, who blinks up at him questioningly and pushes himself up. What does she mean? How are they supposed to get ready, and for what? 

And then there is a smashing-breaking- _booming_ like the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you so so much for reading, for the kudos and the notes and most especially for the comments. 
> 
> There's been some [AMAZING fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) of the last chapter, and you should really, _really_ check it out. 
> 
> And of course thank you so much to my beta [Impextoo](http://impextoo.tumblr.com/) for all the hard work she puts into this fic, and makes it approximately 5000000x better than it would be otherwise.


	20. Chapter 20

The noise is immense.

It tapers off in volume but it doesn't stop. It shifts and continues. Muffled as it is by the thick walls of the complex, Jack can't pick out any individual sounds. Just an ongoing rumble with nothing to indicate what Rikka's _get ready_ might mean.

He and Nightlight are stuck in a cell, in a locked room, chained to the wall. They're trapped, and there's nothing they can do to prepare for _anything_.

There's a commotion out in the hallway and Jack hears the guards run past their door, yelling.

He pushes himself to his feet and winces as his head spins. Nightlight stands, putting his arm around Jack's waist to support him, and with his help Jack goes over to the wall, where his chain is held firm by a heavy iron ring. There's no give whatsoever, and the ring attached to his torc is closed tight by magic. Nothing he does makes the slightest bit of difference.

Nightlight tugs on his arm, and Jack looks up to see Rikka opening the door.

Jack backs up until he hits the wall. The memory of what it felt like to have her in his head, controlling him, slams into him. He never wants to feel that again, ever.

She is pale but her lips are a thin line of determination. Though she normally wears pretty dresses, now she wears trousers and a shirt, with a thick leather jerkin, and her hair is tied back in a severe braid. The only nod to her usual aesthetic is a simple emerald necklace.

“What do you want?” He tries to sound controlled but the tremor in his voice betrays him.

She lifts up a heavy set of keys. “I've come to get you out of here, while everyone is distracted.”

Jack glares at her. “Why would you think I trust you? After what you _did_ to me!”

“I had to stop you. If you had succeeded, they would have strengthened the guard, and then we wouldn't have been able to go ahead with this rescue mission.”

“You could have just explained! You didn't need to – to-”

“There wasn't time, and there isn't time now.” Rikka steps forward and unlocks the door. 

She steps towards Jack, and Nightlight steps protectively in front of him. Jack's hands curl into his the back of his tunic, taking the moment to breathe deeply as Jethryn taught him, trying to calm himself. 

“Jack please,” she says, sounding exasperated. “I'm trying to get you out of here.”

“I don't trust you! You could have _killed_ me! And Kal-”

“I'm sorry about Kal, alright? I was just supposed to distract him but- I cared for him.”

Jack goes very still; even the panic clawing at him stills as anger wells up inside him, spilling over. He stands tall, and steps away from Nightlight so that he can look at her. “Did you weep for him? Were you consumed by guilt? Do you miss him even now, like part of your heart's missing? Because I do, Rikka. Don't tell me you cared for him. You don't care about anyone but yourself.”

Her eyes widen and then she looks down at the floor. She shakes her head, just a little, but then there is an explosion, too close for comfort. She looks up at Jack with determination on her face. “We don't have time for this. We have to get out of here.”

“What, so I can be your captive instead of Ben's?”

“So that you can be our _ally_ -”

“Ally? An ally is someone I can trust, and I know I can't trust you.”

She gestures impatiently at him. “We don't have a lot of time – I don't even know how long they'll be able to hold off the guards. Even without them, there are dangers. Like Riann.”

“Like you.”

She glares at him. “What can I do to make you trust me, Jack?”

 _I'll never trust you_ is the first thing that comes to mind, but then he realises that this might be his only chance to get out of here. His only chance to save Seraphina. He _doesn't_ trust her – but he can use her. Like everyone seems to use him.

“Get the torc off me. Nightlight too. If you do that I'll follow you.”

For a moment Jack thinks she's going to argue, but she gives a curt nod. She takes off Nightlight's first, and then Jack's. As soon as it's off he steps away from her touch. He pushes aside the wonder he feels at finally being able to access all of his magic and knowing how to use it – he can rejoice later. He needs to get Seraphina out. She has to come first.

“Alright,” Rikka says. “I don't know how long the distraction will go on, so let's get out of here.”

She hurries from the cell, and is at the door before Jack's legs give out on him. He hisses, trying to breathe through the sudden rush of pain, and Nightlight helps him to his feet. Rikka comes over to help as well, but Jack slaps her away.

“Don't you dare touch me!” She was touching him when she hijacked his mind; she does the same when she controls Seraphina. She can communicate and read minds without the need for touch, but it seems she needs contact for anything more.

Her lips thin and she nods. “Very well. But you _must_ hurry.”

Leaning heavily on Nightlight, he does, as much as he can. Once he's moving, it gets easier. One foot in front of the other, he tells himself.

They go left and right and left again, down a long corridor that is barely lit at all at it's furthest reaches. Rikka takes the nearest torch from its bracket and they go down to what looks like a blank wall. Taking the emerald necklace off, she slots it into what looks like just a depression in the rock, but when she does the whole wall shimmers and reveals a hole big enough to step through. An illusion, designed to keep prying eyes from secret things. There were some in Lunanoff, though they were never much of a deterrent to Jack. The emerald must be spelled to reveal the passageway; who else has such a key, he wonders. Do they have any other allies here? It seems doubtful. 

“This used to be an exit up to the castle, back when there was a castle,” she says, throwing the torch through the hole. It gutters but doesn't go out, revealing a dusty and neglected passage. She climbs through it and then waves them through. “Come on, I'll help you.”

“What? No,” Jack says. “I'm not going anywhere without Seraphina.”

Rikka shakes her head. “We don't have time, Jack.”

“Then you'll have to make time. You've used her – made her use her magic in a way that is killing her. And now you're planning on just leaving her here?”

“She'll die without the ice, Jack-”

“How long would she have?”

“I don't know,” Rikka says, and flinches as another explosion shakes the walls. “A matter of months, perhaps.”

“Months is more than enough time to get help for her. If we leave her here, gods know what Ben and Riann will do to her. If we thaw her-.”

“There's no _time_ -”

She reaches for him, and Jack knows exactly what her plan is – to reach into his head and force him to do what she wants. The thought of that intrusion, of being used like that again, makes Jack jerk backwards, knocking into Nightlight. Disgust twists his stomach, and when she reaches for him again, he uses a gust of wind to blow her backwards.

“Jack-”

“I'm saving Seraphina and you can't stop me,” he says.

“I don't want to have to force your hand, but if you insist on making this difficult I _can_ stop you. I _have_ to get you out of here.”

She moves forward again and this time Jack doesn't bother with the wind. Another headache-inducing duck into the memories that aren't his, and ice spills from his hand, blocking the hole in the wall with a thick, milky sheet of ice. Beyond it he hears Rikka's cry of frustration, and then in his head,

_You're being an idiot, Jack. I could have saved you!_

_Like you saved Kal?_ Jack grabs Nightlight's hand, leading him away. Rikka doesn't bother to argue; Jack's fairly sure she's leaving, looking out for herself as she always seems to.

He casts thoughts of her from his mind. The pain in his chest was muted, but using his magic has made it worse, a throb with red pain around the edges. He has to get to Seraphina and thaw her before it gets too much. The spell is a complex one, and he can't do it without full concentration.

He glances at Nightlight. “Do you know the way to the ice room from here?” 

Nightlight bites his lip and glances around before nodding. Putting his arm around Jack’s waist, they set off down the corridor, turn right-

“Shut up, Kader!”

Both Jack and Nightlight freeze. Riann. There’s a shallow recess in the wall, and Jack pushes Nightlight into it. His heart starts to race, and he feels himself start to shake. All he can think of is her threatening him with the poker, the cruelty in her smile. He wants to run, to tear down the ice wall and follow Rikka, anything to get away from her. But Seraphina, he reminds himself. Seraphina.

And he has his magic now. He could protect himself. Fight Riann. He could probably win, too, but he doesn’t want to waste precious energy; at least not until Seraphina is free. He swallows and takes a slow, shaky breath, trying to be quiet lest she hear.

“Riann, listen-“ That's Kader.

“Those rebels dare to come in here and attack us? They’re _asking_ for retribution, and what better form than their leader’s head?”

“But Father’s plans-“

“Father’s plans don’t include our fortress being attacked, do they? Or the priests running like scared puppies to the travel circle and taking half of our damned guards with them. At least they’re showing their true colours.”

“Maybe we should go with them. Regroup with Father.”

“I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you, Kader,” she says, her voice heavy with disgust. “Go on then, run away, just like you always do-“ The footsteps stop and then they hear a deep chuckle. “Well, well – it looks like our quarry has come to us. Hard to hide when you glow, isn’t it Nightlight?”

Jack curses himself – he should have thought of that, but he’s grown so used to it these past weeks that he didn't even consider it. He steps out, hands clenched. Kader is at the front, Riann just behind, followed by four guards. It doesn’t matter, Jack tells himself. He can take all of them.

_But what about Seraphina?_

“Oh good,” Riann says. “I can give them your head too, Jackson.”

She draws her sword and steps forward.

Without even having time to think, Jack makes a wall of ice between them, but her sword quickly smashes through it. He needs to concentrate, to come up with a better barrier, but she’s fast and gives him no pause. He tries with the next one, but the only result is that it takes another few powerful swings of her sword to make it come crashing down. Putting up another ice wall makes him gasp in pain, the sigils on his chest burning, and the barrier is even more paltry than the last. It slows her down at least, enough that when she smashes it and her sword slashes down at the arm that he raises defensively, the cut is shallow. It hurts, though, and scatters his concentration. He is at her mercy-

And then a column of earth and stone juts from the floor, driving her backwards.

“Kader,” she growls, twisting.

“Riann, don’t be a fool-“ That’s as far as Kader gets before Riann pushes him against the wall, fingers wrapped around his throat. The runes on her gauntlets glow, giving her strength to lift him so that his feet leave the floor, twitching as she chokes him. The guards glance at each other, but none of them move to stop her.

“Don’t you ever call me a fool, Kader,” she hisses, and starts to lift her sword, but before she can there’s a twitch of Kader’s hand, something that could be unconscious, but then another column of stone smashes into Riann, pushing her away. Kader falls to his hands and knees, coughing. She stares at him in shock and raises her sword. “You _dare_ -“

“I dare,” Kader croaks, and with an upward gesture a wall of rock rises in front of and behind Riann and her men, trapping them. They can hear her anger, muffled by the rock, hear her hitting it, but the prison holds.

Kader is still on his hands and knees, and Jack can see how badly his arms are shaking. He's shaking himself, blood flowing freely from his arm. Nightlight comes over to him, using a shard of the ice wall to cut a length from his own tunic to bandage it. As he works, Jack watches Kader, who pushes himself up and leans against the wall as he wheezes. Already his neck is purpling where Riann caught him, and there's a nasty rattling sound with each breath. Despite himself, Jack can't help but worry about him, that Riann might have done him some real damage.

He looks up at Jack face twisted in pain. “You need to get out of here,” he says. “If you get to the rebels- to Nightlight’s friends - they might be able to help you.”

“I need to get Seraphina first.”

Kader pauses, but eventually he nods and struggles to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall. “This way,” he says, and starts to move, but Jack doesn’t move. He doesn’t trust Kader. Not even after what he just did – that was to protect himself against Riann and her men, not to protect Jack and Nightlight. If it was just him, he might risk it, but Seraphina is too precious to endanger.

“Tell us the way. You go and rescue Isa.” As if to punctuate his words, there’s another _BANG_ and a large chunk of ceiling crumbles further down the hallway. “You can tell your father you rescued her so that he can keep using her powers.”

“I think I’ve burned that bridge,” Kader says, glancing over his shoulder at the rock prison restraining his sister. Fear and regret flicker over his face, but they are replaced by determination, a look Jack has never seen on Kader’s face before. “I’ll help Isa, and the others, too – if this place comes down they’ll all die.”

Jack blinks. He hadn’t even thought about any others, but the map Nightlight drew had a dozen cells and Jack doubts he would have been put in with Nightlight if there was an empty one. Who are they? What transgressions have they perpetrated against Ben?

“There's a way out just down there,” Jack says, pointing the way that Rikka has gone. “Some ice is blocking the way, but I assume you can move the rock around it?”

“Of course,” Kader says with a thin smile and breaks into a coughing fit. When it ends his breath rattles. Jack finds himself wishing he could help - after all, Kader saved him from Riann. But no. Kader can look after himself. Seraphina cannot, and the sharpening ache running through Jack’s body tells him he might not have much time left. 

“Are you going to be alright?”

Kader nods. “Don’t worry about me. You need to get the princess out of here.” He raises a shaking hand. “Take a left and then two rights. There's a door there, and your staff should be in that room. Then straight down the corridor and turn left – that's the ice room.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, and stands up straighter, his arm around Nightlight's waist as his head spins.

“In case we don't see each other again, I'll say it one more time: I'm sorry,” Kader says, his eyes serious. “If there's ever a way I can make it up to you-”

Jack pauses, but he can't bring himself to forgive Kader, not when all of this is his fault. “Stop your father. That'll go a way to fixing all the wrongs you've done.”

Kader nods slowly. “Perhaps you're right,” he says. “Good luck, Jack.”

Still leaning against the wall, Kader makes his way towards the cells, and for a moment Jack looks after him, wondering if they should have worked together.

No.

He doesn't trust him, and in any case, the other prisoners deserve a shot at getting out of here. Jack's priority is Seraphina but they should have a chance too.

They follow Kader's directions at a half-jog, as much as Jack can manage. Even then his head is pounding, and the sigils throb in time with his heartbeat. He tries to concentrate, to listen in case anyone else comes or Riann breaks free, but the pain is distracting and seeps into his thoughts like a poison.

It's a piece of fortune that no-one interrupts them. But then Riann said half of the guards had gone with the priests, and she's now trapped with four of her own men. Then there are those who are fighting the rebels – that might well be all of the guards accounted for.

The cupboard is there, as Kader said it would be. There is a heavy lock on the door but lowering the temperature drastically makes it easy to break. Inside, the cupboard is full of all kinds of trinkets, and there in the corner is Jack's staff. It seems to sing beneath his hands and he feels his focus sharpen immediately, like he's had a good night's sleep. The pain is still there but he can think through it – he will be able to free Seraphina. Relief floods through him and he turns to Nightlight. He's looking around, shifting rolls of material, piles of books and frowning deeply.

“Are you looking for something?”

Nightlight nods, but after a last look around he sighs and grabs a short sword in a leather sheath. Drawing it reveals it to have a dark blade, gently curved, and inscribed with jagged runes. From his sigh, it's not what he was looking for, but he keeps hold of it. He gestures at the door and Jack nods.

He limps out, leaning on his staff for support and lets Nightlight take the lead with his new sword in hand. For a moment he considers trying to ride the wind, but decides it would be wiser to save his energy for the thawing spell, and whatever might come after. He feels better now, but after expending his energy with the thawing spell, who knows?

The ice room is only a little further along. Nightlight wraps his fingers around the handle and then glances back at Jack, who lifts his staff, ready to defend them if needed. He nods, and Nightlight swings open the door. Both of them rush in, looking for danger, but it is empty save for the pillars of ice, silent sentinels in the dim room.

Still on alert, Jack limps towards Seraphina, putting his hand on the ice. He notices that the makeshift bandage that Nightlight put into place is soaked, and blood is running down his arm. A thought swings to the front of his mind, _freeze it_ ; knowledge from Isa, and not even a twinge of pain this time. It's a matter of seconds to freeze the blood, numbing the pain as well as stopping the bleeding.

Now he can concentrate on what he needs to do.

“Just hold on,” he tells Seraphina, and starts the thawing spell. The sounds of fighting are louder in here, but they're still muffled; there must be several walls between them. Nevertheless Nightlight stands ready, waiting to defend Jack if necessary. Since he has to thaw all of her, not just her head, it takes longer, and Jack grinds his teeth, forcing himself to be patient. It's a slow process, and the sounds of the fighting keep him on edge. Forcing himself to take steady breaths, he continues, leaving a little at the back to support her until she is properly awake.

When the ice is gone he works on bringing her back from the suspended state, little by little. It's a delicate process and he has to be careful, making sure everything is done properly. He is grateful for the staff that helps him focus not just his magic but his mind, and grateful for Jethryn's lessons in concentration. Even with Isa’s knowledge he wouldn’t be able to keep going without that. The sigils are like lines of fire on his skin but he forces himself to keep going. Just a little more-

And then she opens her eyes.

She blinks down at him and then lifts her hand, staring at it in confusion as though she had forgotten she even _had_ hands. Her movements are slow, and when she tries to step forward off the plinth of ice, her legs won't hold her and she collapses forward. Jack darts forward to save her but he's not steady himself, a mixture of fatigue and pain making him weak. He falls to the ground with her but manages to break her fall. He looks around for Nightlight to ask for help, and sees that he's staring up at the next ice pillar, even smaller than Seraphina's.

“Nightlight, help me!”

Nightlight looks down at him and then puts a hand on the pillar, gesturing at it. Jack looks closer and he sees that smudge of gold. With Nightlight's glow illuminating it, he can see that it is a small figure. Nausea floods him. Another child? It seems to be the only one other than Seraphina's that holds somebody, and he can't leave them, he can't. Nightlight gestures at them with urgency, as though his thoughts match Jack's, and Jack nods, pushing himself to his feet.

“I'll thaw them,” Jack says. “You help Seraphina.”

They exchange places and Jack holds his staff a little tighter, breathes deeply, finds a place past his exhaustion, past the pain. Closing his eyes, he starts the thawing process on the second block. This one is harder since Jack is so tired, and he is glad that it's smaller. As the ice gets thinner, Jack realises that it isn't a child. It's a little man of strange proportions, wearing a glittering golden robe. The sigils are constant agony now, and it’s seeping through the rest of him, but he pushes through the last part of the spell and the man's eyes open sleepily. He blinks and looks around, and then looks down at Jack. A question mark appears above his head, made from golden sand. Jack stares at it, startled.

“The - the man who trapped you here is gone,” Jack says, not even sure if this little man can understand him. “We need to get out of here.”

The man's eyes widen and he points at Jack's chest, an exclamation point dancing over his head. At first Jack thinks he's pointing at the spell-marking, but as he looks down himself, realisation hits. He's pointing at the dreamsand pendant. The exclamation point becomes a question mark. 

“My king gave it to me,” he says. “I was having nightmares, and he wanted me to have good dreams wherever I was.”

The man looks at it with a deep frown, and another image appears over his head, one that Jack doesn’t understand. It looks like a circle with long, spiral arms stretching out from it. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, shaking his head. “I suppose it’s too much to ask that at least one person can talk to me, isn’t it?”

Another couple of images flash across the man’s head, things Jack’s only ever seen in books: a boat, a mermaid, the waves, and then that strange image again. Jack still doesn’t understand, but the stuff that he's making the pictures with, even his robe – all of it looks like dreamsand. Who _is_ this man?

“Is it about the dreamsand?” It’s a guess, but the little man nods eagerly. “I don’t really know anything about it. But if you help us get out of here, you can ask Pitch-” 

Before Jack can finish, the door bursts open. Three guards. Surprise on their faces – they obviously expected this room to be empty. The surprise doesn't last long. Two of them draw their swords, another summons an orb of blue energy that sends an unexpected spike of terror through Jack as he remembers something similar on that horrible night when Kal-

Jack sees a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye even as his heart starts to race at the memory, and a rope made from dreamsand arcs out from the hand of the little man and wraps around the three guards, tying them together. When one of them opens his mouth to yell for help, dreamsand gags are added too, and the little man floats over to them, waving his finger disapprovingly before he turns and gestures for them to follow him.

Jack kneels by Seraphina's side and sees that she's barely conscious. There's no way she'll be able to stand, let alone walk. Maybe he can carry her on the wind, but he's not sure how long his strength is going to last – the burst of energy from finding his staff is rapidly dwindling. He has to get her out of here. The more exhausted he gets, the stronger the attacks of pain, the more he worries that he’s not going to be able to get her back to Pitch. If he can at least get her somewhere safe. Maybe Nightlight can get her home. 

But first they have to get out of here. She'll need to be carried, and Jack is too weak to do it. Nightlight picks her up easily, but he has to sheath his sword. The little man sees their dilemma, and conjures up a golden cloud. Images dance over his head, Seraphina's profile and an arrow pointing to the cloud.

Nightlight and Jack look at one another, and Jack carefully tests the cloud with a hand to see if it will hold her. It is surprisingly solid, but soft, like a good mattress. He pauses, wondering if he can trust this little golden man – but is he controls dreamsand then he _must_ be good, Jack thinks, but he doesn't convince himself.

He doesn't have a choice.

Together he and Nightlight put her on the cloud. She moans a little as they pick her up, but when she's on the golden sand, it seems to comfort her.

“It'll be okay,” he tells her. “I'm going to get you home to your father.”

She looks up at him with solemn eyes but she doesn't smile. Perhaps she doesn't believe him. Perhaps she's right not to.

“Alright,” Jack says. “Let's go.”

He leans heavily on his staff clenches his jaw against the pain that washes over him in waves that get higher and higher. Nightlight casts him a worried look but he doesn't fuss over him.

Instead he leads the way, walking before Seraphina on her cloud with sword in hand, ready to protect her. The little man floats just behind him, and Jack takes up the rear.

They head back to the exit that Rikka showed them, but when they get there it is blocked again - not hidden but truly blocked by a rockfall. Whether that was Kader covering his tracks or the result of the explosions that still shake the complex, Jack isn’t sure, and it doesn’t really matter. Despair wells up in him, but Nightlight turns around and leads them the way they came. 

Jack follows, too tired to question it. Nightlight knows this place far better than he does. He glances down at Seraphina. Her breathing is shallow but steady. She still seems pale, and her hair is knotted and damp. There must be consequences of being frozen for so long, but he pushes the worries out of the way. Get her out of here first. That's the most important thing.

Nightlight's knowledge of the complex is invaluable. He leads without hesitation, down the long corridor to the main door that leads to the other section. It's already open when they reach it, and they step through. The noise of the battle is louder here, more intense. Jack wonders if there's any way that they can avoid it, but he doubts it. His luck wouldn't allow for something like that.

Sure enough, the sounds of fighting get louder and louder, and Nightlight raises his sword. The little man forms whips with his dreamsand, one for each hand.

The sounds of the battle are clearer here: the sound of metal on metal, explosions; yells and cries and thumps – all of them too close for comfort and getting louder with each step. Nightlight seems to be leading them right to the battle. They turn a corner-

And he has.

He had no choice.

On the other side of a large room is a staircase leading upwards – the exit. Between them and their way out is the battle.

Two dozen guards fight strangers, _young_ strangers, most of them younger than Jack. He doesn't recognise any of them, but he guesses they must be the rebels. Before he can say anything, before he can even think of a plan, Nightlight jumps forward with a grin on his face and joins the fray. The little man glances at Jack and then shrugs, following Nightlight.

The guards cry out in surprise at the sight of their escaped prisoners, but some of them have magic of their own. One of them makes a dagger out of pure light and throws it at Nightlight, but he deflects it with his sword. Another directs lightning at the little man, but he ducks and grabs him with his whip, throwing him up so that he hits the ceiling and then comes crashing down to earth with a sickening thud that makes Jack think he won't be getting up again. The other guards give a roar and redouble their efforts, and for a moment they seem to be winning.

A flash of movement out of the corner of Jack's eye and he throws an ice dagger without thinking. It buries itself in a guard's shoulder and he falls to the ground with a shriek. Another guard is stopped in his tracks when ice rises from the floor to capture his legs.

The magic makes his head spin and his stomach lurch, and worst of all the sigils _burn_. It feels like another attack, like the one Rikka caused.

Another guard suddenly appears at his side while Jack's been concentrating on staying upright, and he grabs Jack's arm. It instantly goes numb, and his staff falls from his fingers. The guard reaches for Jack's face but before he can get there Jack punches him. It's not hard, he's too uncoordinated, but it takes the guard by surprise enough to let go of Jack. Isa's knowledge roars through his mind and he freezes the blood in the man's legs. He drops to the floor, screaming, and another of Isa's ideas – something she couldn't do, but that she knows of. Something Jack intrinsically knows that _he_ can do.

Without thinking he freezes the air in front of him and forms snowflakes, snowflakes containing a special kind of magic. He blows on them and they flit through the room, and one by one they hit the guards, who stop fighting.

The rebels pause, confused, and glance at each other.

“You'll stay here,” Jack says to the guards, who all turn to look at him. “You stay here, and you let us go. After we're gone, you don't let anyone follow us. Got it?”

They nod in unison, silent and glassy eyed.

 _What have I done?_ It's as bad as what Rikka did to him. He swallows down his horror and glances down at Seraphina. It's for her. It's all for her, and for Pitch.

“They're doing what you said,” a girl in a yellow coat says, looking from the guard in front of her to Jack.

“Yes,” Jack says, feeling ill. The way he felt when Rikka hijacked his mind keeps playing through his mind, and now he's doing it, he's just as bad as she is. The pain thudding through him makes it hard to think, but he can feel the guilt clearly. 

“How long will it last?”

“I don't know. I've never done it before.”

“Then let's get out of here,” she says, and grabs Nightlight's hand. She pauses just long enough to kiss him. A strange jealousy kicks in Jack's stomach and he tries to ignore it. He has nothing to be jealous of. He and Nightlight are only friends and Jack has Pitch. It's a foolish little jealousy but it niggles at him.

They head towards the stairs and Jack’s legs shake with every step. Not much longer, he tells himself, and tried to ignore the fact that he has no idea where they are, or how far they are from Pitch’s palace. Jack keeps Seraphina in front of him so that he can keep an eye on here. The girl falls into step with him and gives him a smile so bright that it melts away Jack's resentment.

“Thank you,” she says. “You saved us.”

“But I – I did that to them-”

She reaches for his hand and squeezes it, and the touch makes Jack startle. It’s still strange to be touched by someone who isn’t Pitch, or who isn’t trying to hurt him. “Don't dwell on it, or at least until we're away from here and safe. For now, just think: you've saved us all. Saved all of our lives, theirs included.”

“I suppose so,” Jack mumbles.

“When we get to Santoff Claussen we can talk about it. I'm Katherine.”

“Jack.”

She nods. “I know.”

They move, opening the door and piling through it, surrounding Jack and Nightlight, the little man and Seraphina.

“I can't believe that you found the Sandman,” she says as they go up a steep set of stairs that makes Jack's everything hurt and his head spin. “I didn't even know he was real.”

Jack glances up at the little man, floating a little way ahead. It's a fitting name. “What do you mean?”

“He's a myth – or I thought he was. A man who brings good dreams with his magical dreamsand. But he's real...” She trails off as they reach the top of the stairs. All of them lift their weapons, ready for an attack, and they push open the door-

Nothing.

Everyone exits into the night and for a moment all Jack can do is stand there with the wind dancing around him, breathing in the fresh air and letting the moonlight soak into his skin. He wants to ride the wind, but he's not even sure if he can. He's exhausted and the throbbing of the sigils has been getting worse. It feels like they're hammering against his bones, echoing through his body. The fresh air helps, but it's not enough. It's too warm, clammy, though Jack wonders if that might not be something of a fever.

Behind him are the ruins of a castle. It looks like it was destroyed long ago and all that is left are moss-covered walls barely taller than he is. Jack remembers Kader telling him that the underground rooms were a place of safety for the lord and lady of the castle in case of attack. He wonders if they helped.

Beyond is a dense forest, thickly covered with shadows. It's not like the forests in Umbra. Smaller, with curved trunks and leafy fronds instead of the thin needles or large hand-shaped leaves he is used to. It’s warmer too, more like Umbra was in the autumn. They pause, looking around and listening closely for any signs of attack or pursuit. 

Seeing nothing, Jack takes the moment to glance around at his saviours. There's Katherine and another girl whose trousers and tunic are covered with pockets, and an array of unknown gadgets are attached to her belt. There are three boys of varying ages whose matching mousy hair and scattering of freckles makes them look like they might be related. There are another couple of boys Jack's age, and with Jack, Nightlight and the Sandman they total eleven. Not exactly an army to stand against Ben's guards.

“This way,” says Katherine, and she leads them into the trees. Jack falls back to take the rear, just behind the cloud where Seraphina is now asleep. Golden butterflies dance over her head, and Jack glances at the Sandman. The Sandman smiles at him, and then at her. A few symbols flicker into life and then fade – a butterfly, a smile, a dancing girl. Is he trying to tell Jack that Seraphina is having good dreams? He hopes so. She deserves them. His throat seems to close when he thinks of her trapped in the ice for five long years – of helping to freeze her, but he swallows the guilt away. He freed her. He's going to reunite her with her father if it's the last thing he does.

As they go further into the forest, lit by Nightlight's glow and the light of the dreamsand, Jack listens carefully, but all he can hear is their own footsteps. He checks behind them, looks all around, but the dense forest reveals little.

Worry nags at him. They're perfectly set up for an ambush. But between the guards who left with the priests and the ones now frozen near the exit, perhaps they have a chance. Most importantly, Riann is still trapped – or at least Jack hopes she is. The thought of what she will do to him if she gets free makes him shiver. At least Ben isn't here-

The pain slams into him like a battering ram and he falls to his knees, gasping. Nightlight is by his side instantly, arm around his shoulders. It does nothing for the pain but it helps him with the panic that threatens to bubble over. 

“Remember, you said that if anything happened to me, you’d look after Seraphina,” Jack says, and Nightlight nods. “Promise?”

Nightlight nods again, and puts his hand over his heart in a wordless oath.

“We’ll help her, and we’ll help you, too. Here, this will help combat the pain. It's not much, but it's something,” Katherine says, and offers him a small vial full of what looks like Kader’s potion. Jack pauses only a moment before drinking it down. If Nightlight trusts her then he will too. The potion is bitter, with hints of spice. “It’s just a little further, Jack. Do you think you can make it?”

Jack nods; getting Seraphina back to Pitch may be his first priority but _he_ wants to get back to him too.

Forcing himself to his feet, he lets Nightlight support him and they set off again. The potion gets to work, and while the pain doesn’t go away it becomes more bearable. He can’t help but feel like it is nothing but a flimsy barrier that can’t last long, but he tries to ignore it and focus on the trail. For it is a trail, he sees. A line of dull silvery pebbles a few feet apart, little signs leading the way.

But to what?

It isn't long until they reach a clearing, and Jack finds out.

Unfortunately it looks like someone found out first.

“No,” breathes Katherine, stepping forward into the moonlit clearing. The ground is littered with broken stones and shattered glass. Whatever was here, it has been destroyed, so completely that Jack has no clue what it was, other than some kind of building.

“Our tower,” says the smallest of the brothers in a broken voice, picking up one of the stones. One of the older boys puts a comforting hand on his shoulder as they look out on the devastation. “How will we get out of here without our tower?”

Jack blinks, not understanding how a tower could help them to escape. 

Katherine pauses, clenching her hands. “We will find a way. For now, we need to get somewhere safe, where we can think of a plan.”

The other girl reaches for a tube on her belt and withdraws a map. She examines it, and Katherine goes to her side. “There is a guard house, about a mile from here. But – I don't know if it will be safe.”

Katherine bites her lip, thinking. “The travelling circle is here,” she says, pointing in the other direction. “That's where they'll have gone after they destroyed our tower. Other than the ones still in the ruins, they'll probably all have left. And at least if we go to the guard house, we'll be able to defend it.” She nods, her decision made. She checks the map and then checks a compass that dangles from her buttonhole. “Come on,” she says, and leads the way.

It isn't far into this journey when Jack is certain that another attack of pain is coming over him. He grits his teeth. They said a mile; twenty minutes at most. He can wait that long. He has to.

They crest a small rise and the forest starts to thin out again. Moonlight filters down and makes everything silver. Jack glances up and wonders what is happening up there. Is Bunny still there, with all the survivors of Ben's massacre? For that matter are North and Tooth and Jamie up there now? Did Pitch kick them out?

Gods, what _did_ Pitch do? Jack can't even imagine.

 _You can ask him yourself,_ he tells himself, and then the pain hits him.

Everything goes grey, tinged with red, in a matter of seconds. He's vaguely aware of falling to his knees, and then falling to the floor, of making small, pained little noises like a forest creature caught in a trap. And then he is on the cloud beside Seraphina, and the Sandman blows a handful of golden sand in his face.

Instead of everything going black, it goes gold, and Jack sinks into good dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever thank you so much for all of the feedback. Every time I get a comment notification or a 'You've got kudos!' email is makes my day. Every time. So thank you <3
> 
> Please make sure you check out [the fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanworks-of-my-fic-what) on my blog, there's some stunning new stuff on there (and stunning old stuff! Check all of it out!). 
> 
> And someone asked what it would have been like if Pitch had been Jack's courtesan, so I wrote a bit of a ficlet, [here's the link](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/75657421678/what-would-pitch-and-jacks-relationship-be-like-if) if you'd like to read it!
> 
> Oh and a note! Though Jack's snowflakes kind of have [mind control powers in the movie](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GettingSmiliesPaintedOnYourSoul), widowing-powder's marvellous fic [The Weakening Eye of Day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/674844/chapters/1235103) uses them to great effect. I don't _think_ I was subconsciously inspired, and our stories use them in pretty different ways, but nevertheless I wanted to mention it (and also give a shout-out to a great fic).


	21. Chapter 21

The soft sound of unknown voices wakes Jack.

He freezes, listening, trying to see if they mean him harm.

"We can't stay here forever though," one of them says.

"No, we can't," says another, one he recognises. Katherine - one of Nightlight's friends. The others - they're all Nightlight's friends.

He opens his eyes to a stone ceiling and lifts his fuzzy head. The room is fairly small and empty. One corner has fallen in, and the windows have long since lost their glass. Katherine and most of the others are huddled in the far corner of the room, though the little man that Jack thawed - the Sandman, he remembers - is asleep on a small golden cloud. There is one person he doesn’t see.

"Seraphina," Jack gasps, and sits up. His head spins and the sigils on his chest tingle threateningly. He needs to find her-

"It's alright Jack," Katherine says, crouching by his side. "She's here, she's alright."

"Where?" Katherine points to a doorway Jack hadn't noticed before.   She helps him over to it, and he sees Nightlight is there, guarding Seraphina for him. He feels warmth in his belly and he smiles at Nightlight as he crosses the threshold.

"Thank you," Jack says with a smile and looks over at Seraphina.

There she is, on her cloud, with Katherine's yellow coat over her. She is still sleeping though she looks less pale and drawn than she did before.

He goes over to her and smiles down at her. What will Pitch say when he sees her? He can barely imagine. He hopes he is still here to find out. The sigils throb as if to remind him that he is unlikely to be so lucky.

"Sandy - the Sandman - sent a message to King Pitch," Katherine says, and Jack turns to stare at her.

"What? How?"

"Through a dream. At least, I think that's what he meant. That he saw King Pitch in your dream, and that he might be able to come here and save us."

Jack blinks. Could it be true? Could Pitch have really got that message?

"But - how - Pitch needs to have seen the place before he can travel through the shadows to it."

"He has seen in now - in a dream."

Jack stares at her and hope stirs in him - could this work? Could this really work?

"Where are we? How far from Iscadin?"

"Three thousand miles, more or less," Katherine says, and Jack's hopes swoop and shatter.

"So far..." Pitch might be able to make it here but Jack's not sure he'd be able to make it back. Even if he can, he can only take one person with him.

There's no question who that person is going to be.

Jack's surprised that there's no agonising despair; only a pang of sorrow and a quiet acceptance. All he's been thinking about is getting Seraphina out of here, barely thinking of himself at all.

Maybe I'm finally growing up, Jack thinks, and goes over to Seraphina.

He sits on the cloud by her side and she stirs. Blinking up at him she yawns.

"Hello," he says, giving her his warmest smile.

"Hello," she says very quietly and looks up at him with wide eyes. "You said you were going to take me to my papa."

"I think he's on his way," Jack says. "Coming to take you home."

"Will Mama be there too? I- I remember her being with me in that horrible place but...” She frowns as she tries to remember, and Jack stares at her. He can’t tell her. It’s not his place to, especially when he doesn’t know how must Rikka’s word can be trusted. But he will have to tell Pitch - or at least he will if he ever sees him away. Swallowing away the fear, Jack tells himself he can worry about that when it happens. 

"I’m not sure where she is,” Jack says. "But I’m sure your papa will be here soon.”

She nods, and then her lower lip quivers. "I’m scared."

"Me too. Do you think you can be brave a little longer, until your papa gets here?"

She nods, her eyes full of tears. "Can I have a hug?"

"Of course," Jack says, thinking that this at least is one person who Pitch won't mind him hugging. She pushes up to sitting and shifts so that she can wrap her arms around his waist, or at least as far as they will go. He holds her tightly, using the hug to apologise for being part of the group that hurt her so, to offer whatever comfort he can against all the wrongs that have been done to her.

"How do you know Papa?"

Jack pauses. Will she know what a courtesan is? Jack thinks of the gallery and how many courtesans were pictured there, of how integral a part of royal Umbran life it is - she must know. "I’m - I’m his courtesan.”

"Oh. Then you’re family.”

Her words are like a kick to the stomach, stealing his breath away. Jack stares down at her, but she only smiles back. She means it. How can she accept him so easily when his own family barely accepted him at all. She takes it all in her stride with such ease that Jack can only smile back at her and wonder if perhaps he’s finally found his true family. 

She yawns widely; being frozen for so long has had a hefty price. 

"Sleep,” Jack tells her. "And when you awake, perhaps your papa will be here.”

"I’d like that,” she says sleepily, and lowers herself back down to her cloud. She’s asleep in moments. 

Jack gazes down at her, thinking about family - about the family he was born into, about this one that he’s found himself part of, even if he doesn’t have much time to enjoy it. It feels a little bittersweet, but he’s happy, incredibly touched by how easily and unconditionally she has accepted him. 

He leaves her, touching her hair lightly, and goes to the bare corner of the other room where a pile of coats and capes from Nightlight’s friends  had served as his bed. Staring at the ceiling, he thinks about all the things that he’s leaving behind.

=== 

Jack’s half asleep when he feels it.

A gathering of familiar magic. So unexpected that at first Jack can’t believe it, but then the shadows gather together, coalescing into a deeper darkness, and then Pitch steps into Jack’s room.

Jack pushes himself and stares at him. Is he real? Can this really be real? Or is he dreaming, or is this a hallucination? Pitch looks pale and drawn, his cheeks sunken, dark circles under his eyes. 

_Surely if I was dreaming him I’d have him look the same way he usually does - if I was dreaming we’d be in our bed or anywhere other than here._

"Pitch?” Only a whisper, and while Pitch had been looking at him as though he too was wondering if it was a dream, the word makes devastating relief crash over his face, so deep that it is pained. For a moment Pitch only looks at him, and then he strides over.

Before he can get to Jack, Nightlight rushes to stand protectively in front of him, his sword pointed at Pitch’s heart. The room gets darker as Pitch gathers his shadows for a fight, but Nightlight only glows brighter.

"Stop it,” Jack says, but his voice is little more than a croak. Grabbing his staff, he slams it down and ice bursts from it, coating the floor. He gasps as the sigils burn, reminding him of the price of using his magic, but he grits his teeth against it. "Stop it!”

Both of them stare at Jack, and he reaches out to grab the hem of Nightlight’s tunic.

"It’s okay, Nightlight. This is Pitch.”

Nightlight glances at Pitch and then back to Jack, expression unimpressed. Jack bites his lip against a smile.

"It’s alright. Seriously, he won’t hurt me. Can you help me up?”

Pitch watches as Nightlight offers a hand to help, confusion and anger warring on his face. No doubt because someone is touching his courtesan again. But the jealous expression is quickly overwhelmed by relief and he moves  forward to pull Jack into a hug. 

He’s really there. This is no dream. He is, so warm and real and _here_. With a strangled sob, Jack throws his arms around Pitch’s neck and leans into him, not able to stop the tears that fall. Whatever happens next, he got to see Pitch once more, and that’s more than he had ever hoped.

"You’re so cold,” Pitch says, pulling back to look at Jack with concern. "And pale- I need to get you back out of here-"

"No, wait-"

"You’re ill, Jack-"

"Pitch, listen to me,” Jack says, reminding himself of his goal as he wipes the tears from his cheeks. "Yes, I’m ill, but there’s something you need to see.”

"Something more important than saving you?”

"Yes,” Jack says softly. "Yes.” He reaches a hand up to touch Pitch's cheek, following the line of his cheekbone. He knows he shouldn't do anything that will make it harder for Pitch to say goodbye, but he needs this, just this simple touch. He wants so much more – he wants kisses and embraces and he wants Pitch inside him but there's no time for that, so this will have to be enough. "It’ll only take a few moments, but you have to see her.”

"Her? Who is ‘her’?” Yet he pulls away so that he can lead the way, supporting him with an arm around his waist. Jack uses his staff to help him balance. His legs feel weak beneath him, but he forces himself to move. In the little anteroom, he can hear Katherine speaking softly, telling a story. The others are staring at him, and them, but he ignores them. He can feel another fit coming on, feel tendrils of pain wrapping around him like vines, and he has to show Pitch that Seraphina is alive before it breaks into full force. He wants to see his face. He wants to see Pitch _happy_ , one last time.

He makes Pitch wait outside the room, at an angle that means he can't see inside. Jack pokes his head around to check that Seraphina is awake. She is. The golden cloud is by the window, sunlight streaming in. Seraphina looks sleepy but happy, smiling as she listens to Katherine's tale. She plays with a corner Katherine’s coat, still being used as a blanket. She looks up at smiles to see Jack, but he puts a finger to his lips to shush her.

Stepping inside, he pulls Pitch with him, and watches Pitch's expression change. He goes very still, eyes widening and his lips part. Disbelief is clear on his face, as is fear. Jack pauses, unsure. He has expected happiness, expected a tearful reunion, but not this debilitating fear, and he isn’t sure how to react. 

Seraphina has no such compunctions. She breaks into a smile like a sunrise and struggles to get up from the cloud, and Katherine helps her down to the ground, holding her hand to keep her steady on her feet. After a moment, Seraphina finds her balance and takes careful steps over to her father, who is still staring down at her. Jack's half afraid that he'll bolt, so he puts a hand to Pitch's lower back, a little touch to show him that Jack is there for him. But Pitch doesn't look away from Seraphina. _Can't_ look away from her.

When she gets to him she gives him a watery smile and reaches for his robe, gathering it in her hands. "Papa,” she says again, and her first tears fall. "Papa.”

She moves forward to hug his legs, and Pitch's mouth works wordlessly. He looks down at her and lifts a hand to touch her hair, but stops before it gets there.

"She's real,” Jack whispers. "She's real, she's alive.”

Pitch looks at him for a moment, and then back down at her. He forces himself to touch her hair, and then makes a noise somewhere between a sob and a cry. Dropping to his knees he pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly.

"You are real,” he whispers.

She pulls back and gives him a tremulous smile. "Of course I'm real, Papa. I missed  you. Did you miss me?"

Pitch gives a small, broken noise, and falls to his knees. He pulls her tightly into his arms, whispering her name over and over. Jack puts a hand on Pitch's shoulder to support him and feels how badly he is shaking.

"It's okay, Papa,” Seraphina says.

Pitch sits back, wiping his eyes, and gazes at Seraphina with a mixture of wonder and joy that hurts to look at. He wipes her tears away and then kisses her forehead.

"You should take her home,” Jack says. "She’s been through a lot, and they said that - that what they did to her would make her really ill.” Pitch looks at him with wide eyes, and Jack squeezes his shoulder.

"What _did_ they do to her?” 

"They made her use her magic - that’s how I was taken. Rikka forced her to use her magic even though she’s too young to reach it herself. Made her use it too much. That it ate up her lifeforce.” Pitch’s eyes widen again, and looks down at her, more fearful than Jack’s ever seen him. "I’m sure Jethryn will be able to help her, but you have to get her home.”

Pitch looks back down at Seraphina and pulls her to him, hugging her tightly. Jack can see his thoughts as clearly as if he were a farspeaker himself: he won’t let his daughter be taken from him again. But then Pitch looks up at Jack with a frown.

"I won’t be able to come back to get you,” he says. "This is the furthest I’ve ever travelled through the shadows. Getting her back is going to be difficult, and I won’t be able to come back for days, maybe weeks.”

Jack can’t stop the hand that goes to his chest, where the sigils throb, reminding him of the ticking clock. He only has days left; probably even less than before thanks to the meddling of the priests and Rikka causing the fits. It doesn’t matter. His goal was getting Seraphina back to Pitch and he’s done that. Not only that, but he’s got to see Pitch one last time as well. He can’t ask for any more.

"That’s okay,” Jack says. "We’ll figure something out. Just get her home.”

Pitch still looks uncertain, and Jack’s trying to figure out a way to convince him when Katherine speaks up.

"Jack, you have to tell him.”

Jack glares up at her, where she still sits on the cloud. That was the last thing that he wants to do.

"Tell me what?”

"Nothing-"

"Jack collapsed on the way here. I don’t know exactly what’s wrong but he’s very ill. There are sigils carved into his chest, a spell-"

"What?” Pitch pulls Jack to him and though Jack struggles weakly Pitch pulls open the tunic and sees the ugly purple sigils. Horror spreads over his face and  he touches them gingerly. "What have they done to you?”

"It was supposed to control me. It didn’t work, but it’s – it made me ill.”

"How ill?” Jack shrugs, and Pitch looks intently at him. "How ill, Jack?”

"It doesn’t matter. You can only take one person with you, and that’s Seraphina. That isn’t even a question.”

"There might be another answer,” Katherine says. "What about if you went a shorter distance? A hundred or so miles? Could you take her there and then come back for Jack?”

Pitch looks up at her. "I’m not sure. I’ve never travelled as far as I have today. And where is nearby that she would be safe?”

"Santoff Claussen,” Katherine says, and Pitch’s eyes widen. "If anyone can heal them, Ombric can. And there is nowhere safer.”

"Just take her to Umbra, Pitch,” Jack says. "Jethryn-"

"Ombric is a far greater mage than Jethryn,” Pitch says, his face lighting up. "The greatest mage in the world. She’s right – if anyone can help the two of you it will be him.”

Hope starts to kindle in Jack. He tries to quash it – he’s accepted his death, more or less, and hope is dangerous.

Pitch stands, taking Seraphina’s hand in his. "I’m doing this.”

"Pitch-”

"Don’t argue, Jack. I’ve met Ombric, and I trust him. This might be our only chance to save both of you.”

Jack pauses, and when he opens his mouth to argue again, Pitch silences him with a kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are fierce. "I will save you,” he promises, and before Jack can even argue again he steps into the shadows with Seraphina. 

The moment he’s gone Jack’s legs give way and pain explodes inside of him, frightening in its intensity. It's never been like this before, so sudden and intense. Is this it? Is this the end? Fear mixes with the pain and he barely hears Katherine calling his name before he’s consumed by his own shadows. 

===

Jack wakes without pain. Without fear, without panic. Opening his eyes, he sees an unfamiliar room bathed in moonlight, and beside him lies Pitch on a huge bed. On Pitch’s other side is Seraphina, and he is curled protectively around her. 

_I did it,_ Jack thinks, and smiles at his victory. He did it, and is alive to see it. The absence of pain after being dogged by it is strange, and he pulls open the soft blue robe that he’s been dressed in. 

He stares. 

The sigils are no longer an ugly purple, filled with the toxic powder. They are still visible but only as scars. Just as the priests intended to try, the powder has been removed.

The relief makes his vision blur and his head spin. He had almost come to terms with what happened, with the reality of his own death. Has he truly been given a second chance?

Jack pushes himself carefully out of bed and is surprised when he is steady on his feet. No phantom pain either. He sees a mirror by the side of the room and goes over to it. 

The moonlight softens everything, though Jack is sure he’ll see more signs of his captivity come tomorrow. He lets it drop to the floor. Beneath he wears only short trousers. His torso is completely bare, leaving the scar-sigils entirely on show.

He lets out a long, shaky breath as he looks at then. Without the virena powder they are silvery, like the one on his cheek, but just as visible. Each sigil is easily readable. He frowns as he regards his reflection. The memory of how he got them makes him recoil, and yet, the spell didn't work. They couldn't control him. The thought makes him feel strong. Powerful.

"Jack.” Pitch’s voice, and in the mirror Jack sees him approach from the shadows, the moonlight making him seem unreal; like all of this is a dream. He turns and grabs Pitch’s hands, wanting the confirmation that Pitch is really here.

"Ombric removed the virena powder,” Pitch says softly. "That is what was – hurting you. He couldn’t heal the scars, but the rest-"

"I’m alive,” Jack says, touching the scars. "I’m not dying anymore.”

"No,” Pitch says and pulls Jack to him, holding him so tightly that it hurts.

Jack gasps and buries his face in Pitch’s chest. Disbelief crashes over him – he had resigned himself to death. So now to wake, feeling well for the first time in weeks – and then Pitch is there, with him. He feels tears well in his eyes and he lets them fall, sobbing quietly in Pitch’s arms.

"I was so afraid,” Pitch whispers. "I thought I’d never see you again, and now I have you and Seraphina-" His voice breaks on her name and he shifts; when Jack glances up he sees him looking at her. Bathed in moonlight, fast asleep, she looks peaceful, and much better than she did in the underground complex. He wipes his eyes and smiles at the wonder in Pitch’s eyes as he gazes at her. "Thank you, Jack. There is nothing I can ever do that can show you the depth of my gratitude-”

Jack quiets him with a kiss, and when it threatens to deepen Pitch pulls away, glancing at Seraphina. 

Jack blushes. Not exactly the most appropriate of actions near her.

When Pitch yawns Jack is grateful for the indication of what to do.

"Bed,” he tells Pitch, and puts a hand to his lower back, guiding him back to the bed. Under the sheets, Pitch’s hand instantly seeks out Seraphina’s, tiny and fragile in his own. He gives Jack a sleepy smile before his eyes fall shut, and he’s asleep within moments.

Jack lies awake, staring at the sliver of moon through the window. Excitement thrums through him at the thought that he is alive; that Pitch is by his side. More serious issues must be considered – Ben and Riann, Lunanoff, Pitch and Jack’s argument – but for now Jack is happy. That’s so rare of late that he lets himself dwell in it, soak it in like sunshine on a warm day.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow he will face up to everything that needs dealing with, but for now he wants to have his moment.

===

He is bathed in warmth and light and comfort. Everything just feels _right_ , and he’s smiling before he even opens his eyes. He can hear Pitch’s hushed voice, telling a story of an adventurer seeking out a magical treasure, and for a moment he just lies there, listening. A soft, young voice – Seraphina – pipes up and Pitch laughs, the sweetest noise Jack’s ever heard from him, and he has to look.

In the corner of the room, Pitch sits on a bench that seems to be made from entangled tree branches. Seraphina is by his side, pointing at something in a book he has open in his lap. He smiles at her, presses a kiss to her forehead. Jack's heart thumps wildly in his chest at the sight of him. It wasn't a dream. He really came for him.

When Jack pushes himself up, it catches Pitch’s attention and he looks over. Jack smiles at him, Pitch smiles back, but it is Seraphina who makes the first move. She hops off the chair and comes over to Jack, standing beside his bed. She looks up at him with wide eyes and a shy smile, fidgeting with her dress.

"Thank you for saving me, Jack.”

"Anytime.”

She bites her lip and then after a moment’s thought, she reaches forward to wrap her arms around Jack’s neck, just quickly, before pulling back and blushing.

"So how are you feeling?”

"Better,” she says. "Mr Ombric made me better – made both of us better.”

"I guess he did. I’m glad. That gives me lots of time to get to know you,” he says, and pokes her dimples, making her giggle. 

"Papa said that when you woke we could go outside - will you come play with me?”

"Jack needs to bathe and dress,” Pitch says, coming over and resting a hand on her shoulder. "And then the two of us need to talk.”

Seraphina looks like she’s going to argue, but then Pitch shapes a toy-sized nightmare from the shadows, and she smiles, delighted, as she reaches for it. When she pets it it leans in to her touch, just as the full-size nightmare did to Pitch back in Umbra.  
   
"We’ll be outside,” Pitch says, reaching over to touch Jack’s cheek. "Take your time.” Holding Seraphina’s hand he leads her to the door. 

Once they’re gone Jack gets out of bed, marvelling once more at the lack of pain or weakness. He goes over to the mirror and winces; daylight is less kind to him than the moonlight was. He has lost weight that he couldn't afford to lose; his cheeks are as hollow as Pitch's, worse even. The scar on his cheek stands out silver and the bare neck is a shock, too. Jack touches it, missing his collar, missing that sign that he belongs to Pitch. 

He spends the next hour bathing and dressing. He finds a closet and pulls on a rich blue tunic with silvery embroidery around the hem and simple black trousers. That makes him miss Amber with a ferociousness that takes him by surprise. While he was a captive he didn’t even let himself think of her and his other friends in Umbra. Now that he doesn’t have to focus on saving Seraphina, everything that he’s been pushing away comes rushing over him. He will see Amber and Onyx, Monty too. Perhaps he can even go to Kal's memorial in his hometown, but Jack isn't sure that he's ready to say goodbye yet. He can see the forests and the lake, go to his garden with its stark winter beauty. Now that he has mastery over his powers, he can take to the sky and see the palace and its gardens from above.

That makes him frown. He can, if Pitch lets him. That’s something they need to talk about. Sooner, rather than later. Even with that knowledge he squirms, not wanting to face the uncomfortable task of having to talk about his emotions, of making Pitch angry, of Pitch making _him_ angry.

He sighs and touches his sigils. The sign that he's in control of meeting his own destiny – or of avoiding it.

Glancing outside, he’s startled to find himself high up, looking down through bare branches. It seems that their room is a treehouse of some sort. Across the clearing he notices that the Sandman is asleep still, his golden cloud nestled safely in a treetop. Below, Pitch is sitting on the ground, one long leg outstretched as he watches Seraphina play. She looks healthy and happy, and that makes Jack smile. 

Before he opens the door, he grabs his staff. He might not need it to control his magic, but it focuses himself as well as his magic, and that is something he sorely needs. Going outside, the wind rushes to greet him, a stiff breeze whirling around him and playing with his robe and hair. It seems almost frantic, like it’s missed him. 

Closing his eyes, he smiles. "I missed you too,” he says and lets it lift him into the air. It wants to whisk him away but he pushes against it with his magic so that he is lowered to the ground. _Later_ , he thinks, and the wind seems to sigh in his ear before settling down.

"Good morning,” he says, and Pitch smiles up at him, patting the ground by his side. Jack pauses; the playful wind has reminded him that he’s done more than enough sitting around to last a lifetime, but he takes the invitation. For a moment they sit in silence, watching Seraphina.

Jack sits by Pitch's side, suddenly feeling shy and unsure of himself, of them. Seraphina is playing with a stuffed bear and her nightmare as they embark upon some adventure that only she knows. The silence is not exactly comfortable - it feels like they're both waiting for the other to speak.

Eventually he can't stand it anymore.

"So what's been happening in Umbra?  What happened with North and Tooth and Jamie?"

Pitch looks down at him and then takes his hand before he answers, squeezing softly as if to convince himself that Jack is real. "I - did not react well when you were taken. I blamed them and it was only quick words by councillor Brennan that kept me from doing anything I might now regret. I ordered them imprisoned in the barracks and tried to figure out who might have taken you. I didn't recognise the magic, nor did Jethryn, though he said it felt familiar. Now we know why - magic from members of the same family often feels similar. 

"I asked my greatest tracker mages to find you, and all of them came up with nothing. It was Jethryn that suggested that a Lunanovan might be powerful enough to find you. Loathe as I was to let him go, I released your friend, since he was a less important prisoner than your siblings and let him return to Lunanoff to get help. To his credit, he was eager to assist in finding you.”

"Of course he was,” Jack says, not sure whether to roll his eyes or laugh. "He's my friend, remember?”

"Anyway. He returned with two tracker mages who assured me that they would be able to find you - but nothing. They insisted there must be magic at work, hiding you, and perhaps they were right. More likely they overestimated their abilities, given the distance. I was losing all hope - losing my mind. I couldn't lose you. I couldn't. I tried everything and nothing worked - and then that dream. I spent all day listening to Lunanovans tell me why I should release your siblings but truly all I could think about was you. By the time night fell, I made my decision. I didn't tell anyone - perhaps not the wisest thing to do but then anyone I told would have tried to dissuade me. Thankfully Ombric is a powerful farspeaker and got a message through to let people know that I too hadn't been kidnapped."

"What next, then? After we get back? Are you going to let North and Tooth go? And what about that other stuff - about them wanting asylum?"

"Honestly, Jack, I haven't had time to think about it. All my energies have been directed to finding you. I will need to discuss it with my councillors, with Lord Tarr and Lady Ravus. To accept such a large number of refugees - hugely powerful magically at that - is a matter that cannot be taken lightly. But the latest reports state that Benard has left Lunanoff, destroying much as he left. The Dome itself is damaged and they are not sure how long they will be able to sustain it. Time is running out but I don't want to put my people at risk."

Jack isn't sure what to think. He hates them for what they did to him but he doesn't want them to die. But can they be trusted? How can they be sure none of their hearts belong to Ben?

They sit in silence, lost in their thoughts, until Pitch breaks it. 

"I'm so afraid that you'll disappear; that you're nothing but a dream," Pitch says, but he touches Jack anyway.

Jack's eyes fall shut so that he can enjoy the touch; as Pitch strokes his hair it is almost like being petted. It's soothing, and when Pitch's fingers come to rest on Jack's bare neck, he doesn't even feel too distressed, only a mist-like grief.

"She tore it from me," Jack says. "Like it was nothing."

"She?"

"Riann. Ben's daughter-" Jack stops himself. He's not going to think of her. Not right now. Now is a time to rejoice in being alive.

"I'll get you another one. Anything you want. The important thing is that you're safe. Now I need to keep you that way. You'll stay in the palace of course - the most secure place-"

"I can't stay indoors," Jack says quickly, thinking of his cell, of being trapped. "I need the fresh air, the wind on my skin.-"

"No, Jack. I need you to be safe, and the safest place is in the palace. Don't argue with me about this."

"I won't be a prisoner!"

"You're being ridiculous," Pitch says, his tone heavy with exasperation, and Jack has to bite down on his anger. He won't fight with Pitch in front of Seraphina, who has stopped in her play and is looking at them, her brow furrowed.

"I'm going for a walk," Jack snaps, and walks away before he can say anything he will regret.

He can't be a cooped up. Not again. And not somewhere that is supposed to be his home! He was kept in that cell for weeks, at the mercy of Riann and her father. He backpedals from the thought of them but it's too late. Flashes of memory, of her hitting him, of Ben's cruel words, race through his mind before he can stop them, before he can regain control.

"No," he says, touching the sigils through his tunic, reminding himself that he does have control. But it doesn't stop. Riann threatening him with the poker. Cutting Isa's finger off. The more he tries to push it away the more they slide into his thoughts, insidious. Panic builds in him, threatening to overflow-

And then there is Nightlight. Jack has stumbled into a small clearing, and Nightlight is in the middle of it, watching a parade of small insects make their way over a fallen tree trunk.

Jack gives a small sound of distress and Nightlight looks up. Seeing Jack he stands and strides over, looking at him for a moment. Sensing what Jack needs, he pulls him into his arms. The panic cuts off sharply as Nightlight’s magic flows into him, so abruptly that for a moment his head spins and his legs are weak. They give way and Nightlight lowers him to the floor, still holding him, still pouring magic into him, until the weakness is gone and all that is left is a deep and lasting calm.

"Thank you," Jack whispers when he feels better. Pulling back he rests his forehead against Nightlight's. "What am I going to do without you?"

Which is the moment Pitch chooses to follow Jack into the woods.

Jack sees him enter the clearing, sees his face go from anger to pain, sees him turn away and stride off.

"Pitch, wait!"

Pitch doesn't wait, so Jack summons a breeze, riding it past Pitch and grabbing him around the waist as he passes. Pitch yelps as Jack directs the wind to lift them to the treetops, to the platform outside their room. From there Pitch will be able to see that Seraphina is safe, playing on the ground with Katherine, who seems intrigued by the nightmare. 

"Nightlight is my friend," Jack says. "His magic is calming - hugely calming. Without him I don't know how I would have coped with what they did to me."

"...what did they do to you?" Pitch speaks slowly, like he isn't sure he wants to know, but Jack tells him everything. Sometimes he has to go slowly: sometimes he stops. Sometimes it's hard to breathe even with Nightlight's calming magic still with him like a comforting blanket over his shoulders. Pitch comforts him too, pulling him close. Still Jack speaks and sometimes Pitch's grip tightens when he's especially incensed.

"I will kill him," Pitch whispers when his tale is told. "I will kill him slowly, over many years. Perhaps freezing him as he did to Seraphina. And this Riann too -  she will pay for her part in this. Gods, Jack. What they did to you - to Seraphina-" His voice breaks on her name he is quiet for a long time. "Jack - did you - did you see Karine?"

Jack bites his lip, feeling the echo of jealousy over Pitch’s concern for her, smothered quickly by sorrow. "I’m not certain, because it was Rikka who told me and I’m not sure her word can be trusted. But she said – she said that Karine caused no end of trouble, doing everything she could to try and get Sera away from them. In the end, she said, Ben decided she was too much trouble and...” Jack trails off when he sees the grief well in Pitch’s eyes, just for a moment before he covers them with a hand. "I’m so sorry,” he says, and holds Pitch as he cries, remembering that day in the gallery.

"I knew,” Pitch says when the sobs fade away, but there is still so much sorrow in his voice. "I had – accepted it. But seeing Seraphina-"

"It gave you hope,” Jack whispers. "I’m so sorry, Pitch.”

"I have Seraphina back, and that is more than I dared to dream. And Karine – protected her, to her last breath. That is something to be proud of. A fitting memorial for a wonderful woman. But-" He puts a hand to his chest.

"It hurts,” Jack says.

"It will always hurt,” he says, and gives a small smile. "Though I have my family back. Seraphina - and you.” He reaches out to touch Jack’s bare neck and frowns a little. "But so much has changed...”

"You still want me though, right?” Jack sets his tone light, but a little of his panic seeps into it. "I mean – I'm not Karine, I know that, I've always known that but it's just – Ben has hurt you so much. And then he gave me to you. I – I'm part of his schemes and-” 

"Jack,” Pitch says, interrupting him. "None of that affects the way I feel about you. You were a pawn in Benard's plans, just as I was. And we overcame his plans. You chose to stay with me; if you hadn't, I would have freed you. Those would have been _our_ decisions. What we have, we have made ourselves.” 

"But it's – The argument we had-”

"Is something we have to discuss, but nothing that we cannot overcome.” He says it so calmly and surely that Jack can't help but believe him, believe that they can overcome everything that Ben has done to both of them. 

"I want that,” he says quietly. "I want to be _happy_.”

"So do I,” Pitch says. "More than anything, Jack.” He leans in to kiss Jack, but stops before he reaches his lips, waiting for permission, and Jack gladly gives it to him, closing the space between them. They still have much to work through before things are right between them but Jack is more than happy to make renewing their physical relationship a part of it. 

But then Pitch pulls back, his expression pained. "I have to tell Seraphina about Karine. Gods..."

Jack frowns and strokes Pitch’s cheek, wishing there was something he could do- 

His eyes widen as he realises that there is. "Maybe it'll be easier on her if Nightlight is there. If you tell her in the room, he can wait out on the balcony and his magic will make it easier, for you and for her."

Pitch pauses and then his frown eases. "Would he do that?"

"I'll have to check with him but I think so. After all, he's my friend."

Another pause and Pitch sighs, taking Jack's hands in his own. "I'm sorry, Jack. For being so possessive. I understand that he's your friend, but seeing him touching you like that-" He stops himself and shakes his head.

"It's what we were talking about before I was - taken. I like your possessiveness - in small doses. It makes me feel like you really do care about me. But you have to tone it down. I can't cope like this."

"You're my courtesan, even if you don't have a collar on right now."

Pitch is being stubborn and even with the Nightlight-induced calm it's an effort not to get annoyed. "But a courtesan is not so very far from a consort, right? Would you have treated Karine like this?"

Pitch blinks, obviously not expecting this tactic. "She wouldn't have let me."

"Then neither will I from now on. When you do this, I'm calling you on it."

"I don't want you touching other people, Jack. It's part of the tradition of the Umbran courtesan-"

"And I'm not Umbran. I'm not saying that I'm going to go around touching everyone but the people I care about - and that you trust - why can't I touch them? Seraphina hugged me earlier and you didn't get angry then."

"Of course not-"

"What about Onyx, then? Could I touch her?" When Pitch doesn't answer Jack squeezes his hand. "I need more freedom, Pitch. Especially now that I can control my magic. I can protect myself."

"Some freedom," Pitch allows. "We'll need to discuss what exactly that is. It's clear that Umbra isn't as safe as i had thought.  And now you say there is a spy in the palace." Pitch sighs. "And Rikka has betrayed me. Who else shouldn't I trust? Especially now that I have Seraphina to think of-"

"I'll protect her," Jack says. "You can trust me."

"I know I can," Pitch murmurs and leans in to kiss him. "Thank you, Jack."

"So. When we get home - what then? What will you do about Ben?"

"War," Pitch says, his lips thinning. "Ombric has told me what he knows of Benard's plans. He has infiltrated that Vonnyan government over long years - possibly since before you were even born. It's the southernmost land of the Sinaran empire; I have no idea why the Empress hasn't acted, or her father before her. Ombric has been trying to speak to her to no avail. Santoff Claussen is on the border of Vonnya and Benard has been trying to take its lands too. He has asked me to speak to her as the price for healing yourself and Seraphina, though I would have done so in any case. I want to know why she didn't act sooner - if there's a reason behind it, if she has intelligence that we do not." Pitch sighs again and pulls a hand through his hair. "Why must these things be so complicated?"

They sit in silence for a moment and Jack contemplates what war will mean. Ben kidnapped the princess and killed the queen. Kidnapped the courtesan too. None of that can go unpunished. And if he is installing himself as ruler of Vonnya - his new Selena, Jack guesses - then that will give him worrying amounts of power. But the thought of people going to war - of people _dying_ \- because of him doesn't sit well. Then again, the thought of Ben doing whatever he wants is much worse. Control of Lunanoff was not enough for him - who's to say that Vonnya will be? And then there are the spies in Umbra. Were they just part of the plot to kidnap Jack or is there a greater web here that he isn't seeing?

"All this political stuff is exhausting," Jack says flatly, and Pitch manages a smile.

"Indeed it is," he says, and leans in to kiss Jack. 

Pitch pulls away sooner than Jack would like, but when Jack sees the sadness on Pitch's face he lets him go.

"I have much to make up to you, Jack. I said many things that i regret, and I am sorry. When I thought that I might never get to see you again, never make it up to you-"

"You can make it up to me," Jack says. "When we get home and we're safe. and - I'm sorry too, Pitch. I know you really love me. The real me. And-” Jack takes a deep breath. It's time to tell Pitch how he feels. If anything else happens and Jack had been too cowardly to tell him-

"I love you too."

It feels good to say it, better still to see Pitch's eyes widen and his expression soften. "Jack," he whispers, and then they're kissing, again and again, Jack's drowning in it, until they hear Seraphina calling _Papa!_ and they pull apart to see her waving up at them.

Pitch pulls away and his face falls. "I should tell her. Before I lose my nerve. Will you ask your friend if he will help?"

"Of course," Jack says, and puts his arm around Pitch's waist to lower him to the ground. Seraphina runs over and hugs him; she missed her father just as much as he missed her. Pitch holds her so tightly and after touching his hair in a gesture of comfort, Jack goes to find Nightlight.

He's where he left him, now lying on his back and staring up at the sky. He listens carefully when Jack tells him what he needs and then nods earnestly. He walks out to where Pitch and Seraphina wait. Seeing Nightlight by Jack's side makes Pitch's face sag with relief and he stands, Seraphina's hand held tightly in his own.

"Let's go up to our room," Pitch says, and she looks up questioningly but goes with him. Jack and Nightlight follow behind, both of them sitting outside by the window. Jack feels a little like he doesn't belong, like he's eavesdropping on something special, something private, but at the same time he wants to be here in case Pitch needs him. Letting out a long, slow breath, he tells himself that he is doing the right thing and is surprised that he believes himself.

Inside, he hears Pitch begin to speak, too quiet to make out the words. Seraphina is quiet while he speaks and then she begins to cry. They hear Pitch's strained voice try to comfort her but her tears only get louder.

Nightlight frowns and then pushes himself to his feet, going into the room. Jack blinks at him, and then follows, not sure what he's planning on doing, not sure if he should try and stop him. But then he feels it - comfort coming off Nightlight in waves. He takes Seraphina's hands in his and her sobs ease, become hiccuping sniffles. Pitch too looks down at him with something a little like awe. Jack goes to sit by Pitch's side and puts an arm over his shoulders. Pitch manages a small smile and kisses Jack's temple.

Seraphina falls asleep against Pitch's side, exhausted by her tears. There's still a lot of pain in the room but it's easier than it has any right to be thanks to Nightlight's magic.

"I'll do anything I can to help,” Jack murmurs, looking over at Seraphina's sleeping form. 

"Thank you, Jack,” Pitch says. "And I will do anything to help you. I'm worried – you seem to be handling this almost too well.”

"Maybe I'm just saving the breakdown until we get home,” Jack jokes, but Pitch's expression tells him it wasn't funny. The shadowy panic that stirs inside him suggests it wasn't as much of a joke as he might hope. 

"Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together,” Pitch says.

Jack smiles. "Together.”

===

Santoff Claussen is a beautiful place, and in some ways Jack will be sorry to leave it.  But he misses the mountains and the tall trees of Umbra, the spires of the palace. He will be glad to go home. They’re going to travel today, only two days after Jack awoke. Sandy woke this morning, solving the problem of transport by summoning a large, fluffy cloud made of dreamsand. Combined with Jack’s mastery of the winds, it will get them home in a day or so.

Jack sits in the sun on the morning of their return. It feels like Santoff Claussen is a small vacation before they return to Umbra and all the politics that will bring with it. 

Movement to the left catches his attention, and Pitch steps out of their tree house. He holds Seraphina's hand tightly, and his other hand holds a basket.

Jack smiles at them, feeling warmth spread through the parts of his body that the sun can't reach. Pitch smiles back and Seraphina wriggles her hand free, running over to Jack. She sits next to him and links their arms together. Giving him a thin smile, she rests her head against his arm. Once more, Jack is touched by how freely she offers him affection; by how completely she has accepted him as part of her family. 

"We're having a picnic," she says. "I said to Papa that we should have a nice lunch together before we go."

"That’s a great idea," he says, and looks up at Pitch, who gives him a wintry smile and sets the basket down, unfolding a large red blanket. Jack helps him with it and soon the three of them are sitting on it, simple but delicious food set out before them. The meal is quiet but comfortable, weighed down with sadness. While Seraphina and Pitch’s thoughts are haunted by Karine, on Jack’s part, there’s more than a little apprehension about their return to Umbra. What will his role be now? Where does he fit into this family? Seraphina seems to like him, and he likes her, but Jack can’t help but think about how she will change everything.

But then everything _has_ changed. After what happened to him Jack feels jittery. He feels unsafe, though he feels like he can protect himself more than he could before. He has a sense of control over his own life for the first time, and Pitch has acknowledged that. How it will turn out will be seen as the weeks pass, but Jack isn’t going to let Pitch forget it.

And over these next few weeks, they are going to heal, the three of them together. Pitch has had plenty of his own hurts, both new ones and old ones renewed. It's not a matter of one looking after the other, but of working together to fix things. A picnic seems a good way to start.

He reaches around Seraphina to take Pitch's hand where it rests on the ground. They smile at one another and Jack thinks that yes, try can fix this. That these broken pieces can be put together again, better than new.

===

Jack’s startled by how many people come to say their farewells. Considering how withdrawn Jack has been, focusing only on Pitch and Seraphina, he didn’t think any of them would be interested in saying goodbye. But all of those who came to rescue Nightlight are there, as well as their parents and other adults from the village. But Nightlight isn’t there; nor is Katherine, and Jack looks around, wondering where they could be. Surely they wouldn't let him go without saying goodbye?

Pitch is talking to Ombric about his plans to talk to the Sinaran Empress, and holding Seraphina's hand. Her other hand grips Jack's tightly as she looks around the crowded clearing. "Do we really have to go?"

"Yes," he says. "But we're going to Umbra. You want to see home again, right?"

"Yes," she nods. "But I wish Mama was going to be there."

Jack glances down at her, heart hurting with a sudden pang of grief for his own mother. He crouches down so that he's on Seraphina's level and smiles at her. "I know you miss her," he says. "But she'll always be with you. Here," he says, putting a finger to her chest, above her heart. "And I know it's not the same, but I'm here for you. Any time you want to talk or you need a hug, you come to me."

She nods and hugs him tightly. "I love you, Jack."

He blinks back sudden tears and hides his face in her hair. No one other than Pitch has ever said that to him, not even his own family. But they are his family now, he thinks. She and Pitch. He hugs her tighter until he hears footsteps approaching.

Nightlight and Katherine approach, hand in hand. Kissing Seraphina's forehead, Jack checks that Pitch is there to look after her.

"I'll be right back,” he tells her before going over to them.

For a moment he and Nightlight grin at each other. Jack doesn't know what to say; but then Nightlight won't be saying anything either. In place of words they hug; Jack can practically feel Pitch clenching his jaw and tries not to grin.

"I'll miss you," says a soft voice that sounds like starlight, and it's coming from Nightlight.

Jack pulls back, startled, and Nightlight grins at him but doesn't say another word.

"You can talk?” Jack asks, incredulous. "All that time and you could talk?"

"He only speaks about once a year," Katherine says with a smile. "And only when it's important. Even though I've not known you for long, I'll miss you too, Jack. But I think we'll be seeing each other again soon enough."

That makes Jack's smile fall and he nods. "Not for anything fun though."

"No. There are going to be difficult times ahead. But I think in the end, they will make the world a better place."

Jack's not sure that any war will make the world a better place, but for a world without Ben in it might be worth it. He nods, and lets her hug him.

"Come, Jack," Pitch says, and the hint of jealousy there makes Jack feel like either rolling his eyes or laughing. Either way it takes the edge off his worry about the upcoming war.

"Yes, my king," Jack says, and smirks as he sees desire flash over Pitch's face, pleased to see a sign that Pitch still wants him and looking forward to acting on it when they get back to Umbra.

Ombric comes forward with a smile, and two small packages in his hands.

Jack hasn't seen much of him. He looks like very picture of the great mages that Jack has ever seen melded together and brought to life. 

"Thank you for your hospitality, Ombric," Pitch says formally. "And I can never thank you enough for what you've done for Jack and my daughter. Anything I can ever do for you, Umbra is in your debt. I am in your debt."

"Nonsense," Ombric says with a wave of his hand. "We are friends. We help each other - and I think that we will need our friends most desperately in the times ahead. But for now, return home. Relax. Heal."  
Pitch nods.

"I want to thank you, too," Jack says, stepping forward. "I only had days left to live. What you did was a miracle."

"It was magic, Jack. Each of us who have this gift have to use it to help, however we can. I feel that you will be using yours soon enough."

Jack nods, though he's not entirely sure how much help his magic can be.

"Still," he says. "Thank you."

"As I said: there’s no need. I have one last gift for the two of you,” he says, handing parcel to Seraphina and one to Jack. "They are bespelled to help you continue to heal – I suggest keeping them by your bedside. And once you are all better, they will be a reminder of your time here in Santoff Claussen.”

"Thank you,” Jack says, peeking into the leather bag. It’s a crystal point, clear and blue, and when he touches it his head clears and his heart feels lighter.

"Thank you,” Seraphina says, taking a golden crystal out of the bag and holding it up to the sun. "Look, Papa – it’s so pretty!”

"Something else that I’m in your debt for,” Pitch sighs, looking annoyed.

Ombric shakes his head, and then looks around. Humour colours his face as he spots who he's looking for - Sandy, up in the top branches of a tree, fast asleep again.

Jack grins and summons a wind, has it carry him up to Sandy and then he blows a cold breath in his ear. Sandy flails awake and at Jack's laugh he directs a glare at him.

"Hey, you're the one who promised to help us get home," Jack says with a grin.

When they're both down on the ground, Sandy summons a golden cloud, big enough for three of them. Pitch looks at it doubtfully, and Sandy glares up at him as if daring him to take offence. Pitch reaches out a hand and where his fingers touch the dreamsand, it starts to turn a twinkling black.

"Oops," says Pitch, but no one believes for a moment that it was an accident, especially not Sandy. Enraged symbols dance over his head. Pitch smoothes the cloud out flat, so that it looks more like a carpet. He helps Seraphina onto it and then offers Jack his hand. Jack takes in and settles next to Seraphina, looking out at his new friends. Nightlight and Katherine, arm in arm. Ombric, who he barely knows but already respects. And Sandy, still glaring up at Pitch. Their instant dislike for one another is rather amusing; he wonders where it stems from.

There's a wave of goodbyes and then with a gentle touch of Pitch's hand to the carpet, it lifts into the air. Jack pulls the wind beneath them to speed their journey, and then they’re on their way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, I've been ill for a few weeks and then was preparing for Anime Boston (where I am right now, sitting at the RotG PJ party :D). As ever thank you so so much for the kudos and comments, you guys rock :3


	22. Chapter 22

The journey back to Umbra is exhausting. Frustrating, too; Jack knows exactly what he's doing, knows exactly how to control his magic and the winds both, but he wasn't expecting how tiring it would be. Seeing his exhaustion, Pitch turns their magic carpet into a nightmare, able to ride the skies without Jack's help.

"Sleep," Pitch murmurs, shadowy straps sliding over Jack's lap to hold him safely in place, and he is too tired to argue.

When he wakes, refreshed, he lends the wind to the nightmare's speed. A quick dip below the clouds shows them to be above an endless expanse of sea. Jack stares. Water. So much water! If just the lake was unbelievable then this is beyond any comprehension. Once more he wonders how there can't be enough for everyone. He has read that seawater is salty and can't sustain a person, but there must be some way. There _must_.

But then, everything has changed now, hasn't it? Half of Lunanoff is dead. The other half is either with Ben, or is in peril on the moon with a damaged dome. Water will be of little use if it fails.

“How far is it?” Seraphina asks, breaking into Jack’s gloomy thoughts.

"We should be just a few hours away from Blenkeld now," Pitch says, and Jack looks over his shoulder at Pitch. His voice is thin and hoarse, and he looks beyond exhausted.

"Then get some sleep," Jack says. "The nightmare knows where she's going, right?"

"She does, but-"

"No buts. I can protect us if I need to," Jack says, holding out his staff and letting frost lightning crackle down its length.

"I don't doubt that you can, but I _can't_ sleep," Pitch says. "Not until I know that you and Seraphina are safe in Umbra. Once we arrive in Blenkeld, I will sleep then. But for now, no."

Jack sighs; he knows it's useless to argue with Pitch, stubborn man that he is. All he can do is make sure that he sleeps when they land.

He's worried about Seraphina too. She's been sleeping almost all of the way here, and when she wakes she's quiet, looking out at the clouds saying nothing. Sometimes she’ll take the crystal out of the pouch and holds it tightly, taking comfort from it. Maybe they can fashion it into a necklace for her, Jack thinks - he's sure Amber could do that easily enough. Whether it's knowing about her mother's death or any of the other awful things that have happened to her, Jack doesn't know, but he resolves to do whatever he can to help her. After all, he was complicit in helping Ben abuse her magic. Even though Jack was forced into it, that doesn’t absolve him of all guilt. He must do whatever he can to make up for it. 

They ride in silence for a while. Though Pitch remains awake he's clearly exhausted beyond measure and Jack presses a little harder on the wind, picking up the nightmare's speed.

"There," Pitch says after a while in a voice as dry as ancient parchment. He reaches over Jack's shoulder to point, and when he squints Jack sees a distant shoreline, almost like a mirage. "That is the south-eastern tip of Umbra, and Blenkeld will soon come into view. It shouldn't be long now." The relief in his voice is palpable and Jack squeezes Pitch's thigh comfortingly.

Seraphina stirs at the sound of her father's voice. "Papa...?"

"We're nearly home now," he says, reaching around to touch her hair gently. "We'll stop in Blenkeld first to see your grandmother and get some rest, and then we'll go back to the palace."

Jack blinks and then it comes to him – Lady Ravus. Karine's mother; Seraphina's grandmother. Another person who will be delighted to see Seraphina, and Jack smiles. At least out of all this darkness, some good will come.

The shore comes closer and closer, and Jack is glad, for he can feel his energy levels diminishing rapidly. It's shocking how tired using his magic makes him. Like burning a candle, he supposes. He hopes that with practice his stamina will increase, else what is the point of being a powerful mage? He sighs. He had hoped that knowing how to use his magic was all there was to it, but it seems that's not the case. A shortcut to knowledge, but there's still a long way to go.

They can see what must be Blenkeld now, sprawled around a natural harbour. From this height the ships bobbing in the harbour look like toys, and the short, squat buildings are like dollhouses. Jack stares down, fascinated. Although he hasn't seen Iscadin from the air - yet - it's clear that Blenkeld is a very different city. The buildings are smaller and made of a sandy stone rather than the grey of Iscadin.

"I'll take us down in the square," Pitch says, pointing to a wide open expanse where a crowd has already gathered, gawking up at them. "Be on your guard, Jack. I- I hate to admit it but I'm exhausted. If anyone tried to attack us, I'm not sure how well I would be able to protect the two of you."

"You're not expecting anything to happen?” Jack asks, fear clawing up his spine.

"No, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

Jack nods. “If anything does happen, Seraphina is the priority - we’ll both protect her,” he says as the nightmare spirals down to the ground. The crowd backs up so that she has space to land, and Jack sees someone in a billowing cream robe gesturing for them to back up further.

"Away! Give the king space," she says in an accented voice, and when a line of guards march into the square, putting themselves between the crowd and the landing space. Between the guards the people peek out, trying to see their king and their lost princess.

When the nightmare lands, Pitch dismounts first. Together they get Seraphina off and then Jack slides off himself, using a gust of wind to help him. The nightmare whinnies and Seraphina touches her leg.

"Thank you," she says solemnly, and then looks up at her father. "Can we keep her like this, Papa? Please?"

"...Alright," Pitch says, looking too tired to argue. In any case, Jack doubts he'd be able to deny her anything.

The woman steps forward and bows deeply to Pitch. She's lowborn with deep brown skin and long dark hair swept into a bun, a streak of silver running through it. Her loose robe reminds Jack of Ravus's outfit from the autumn festival; it must be cooler for this horribly warm weather. Jack wonders if he might be able to get one himself. The heat here is overpowering. 

She is obviously trying to be professional, but she can't help staring first at Jack, and then at Seraphina.

"Your highness,” she whispers. “Our farspeakers told us the news of the princess, but we thought that there must have been some miscommunication."

"I still find it hard to believe myself," Pitch says, taking Seraphina's hand as though she might disappear into smoke if he doesn't hold her tight. “Greetings, Mayor Fala. I believe we’ve made good time.”

“Yes, your highness. Many hours, in fact. We weren’t expecting you until deep into the nighttime. I can ask Lady Ravus to come immediately-”

“No. I need to rest. Ask her to come in the morning; we can speak over breakfast. Can you prepare a carriage to take us to the royal residence?"

“It should be almost ready,” she says, waving for them to follow her. “We started the preparations as soon as we saw the nightmare.”

As they leave the square, Jack catches himself staring around at the buildings, at the people, before remembering that he is supposed to be on his guard. He grips his staff tighter and pays more attention. The guards wear much lighter armour than those in the palace and Iscadin. A necessity; after only moments here Jack is sweating, far too hot even in the early evening. It makes him uneasy, and a memory of being strung to the ceiling in a room overheated by braziers flits across his mind but he pushes it away quickly, his heart racing. If only Nightlight was here - his calming touch would banish the memories. He glances up at Pitch, wondering if he should say something - but no. Pitch has Seraphina to think about, and for that matter so does Jack. He can think about it later; right now he's supposed to be protecting Pitch and Seraphina both. He needs to concentrate on that. Forget about himself.

They're led to a carriage pulled by two horses that eye the nightmare doubtfully. She tosses her head at them dismissively and trots by the side of the carriage as they set off. Seraphina leans on the side of the carriage, looking out at her nightmare.

"What are you going to call her?" Jack asks.

"Jet," Seraphina says. "My favourite horse when I was little was called Jet. But she died. _This_ Jet won't die."

Jack looks down at her, feeling like this is important, but he doesn't know what to say. When he looks up to Pitch for guidance, he sees his king is barely awake; he probably didn't even hear her.

"Jet's a good name," Jack says. "I like it. Maybe we can ride her when we get back to the palace, just you and me."

"I'd like that," Seraphina says and turns to him, this time with a smile. 

"Me too," Jack says, but he's still worried about her. It can wait until they get back to Iscadin, he decides. Someone there will be better equipped to deal with this than he is. It would be hard to be _less_ equipped, he thinks wryly.

The royal residence isn't far from the city. As the buildings thin out, a strip of green farmland hugs the river as it winds away into the distance.

The royal residence is much like the other buildings in the city, thought the stone is pinkish rather than the ubiquitous cream. A wide canopy hangs over the entrance, providing much-needed shade, and tall, elegant columns line it, a guard standing before each of them. More guards are in front of the tall doors, and then inside as well. It seems that Pitch is not taking any chances, though Jack wonders that he trusts _them_.

 _You have to trust someone_ , Jack thinks, but how do you decide who to trust? When you know there are spies, how can you trust anyone? The thought of someone always watching and listening in on him, even in his most private moments with Pitch. Or worse, handing him over to Ben again, to try again with the spell of control, the idea that the spell might _work_ this time- 

Panic bubbles inside of him, each shallow breath adding to it. Forcing himself to breathe deeply, it ebbs away though it's still there in the back of his mind, waiting for another moment of weakness.

The hallways of this royal residence are different to that in Iscadin. They are wider and lower, the walls pale and polished stone. There are golden stars painted on the darker stones nearest the ceiling making tiny constellations. Pitch leads them upstairs into a large bedroom, more guards stationed outside the door. Jack swallows down his earlier worries and closes the door behind him, wishing he could ice it closed for extra safety. Not that it would do much good, he grumbles to himself; it'd melt in moments in this weather. Without even a thought he lowers the temperature in the room, and Pitch looks over his shoulder to smile at him.

"An unexpected side benefit of having an ice mage for a courtesan," he says, coming over to him and looking down at him for a moment before pulling him into a tight embrace. "Thank you so much, Jack."

"And I thought _I_ didn't like the heat."

"It's not just that, it's everything. Not least..." He trails off and looks at Seraphina, who is gazing out through the tall windows that lead onto the balcony. She clutches her bear tightly and looks so horribly sad. Jack wishes he knew what to do; Pitch looks like he wishes the same. He goes over to the doors and pushes them open, waves Jack over.

Out on the balcony, Jack sees an endless sea of sand. A road snakes out from the city, but it's quickly swallowed up by the desert. In the distance Jack can see cliffs, steeped in deep shadows as the sun dips low in the sky.

"Is that where there are buildings cut into the rock?"

"It is. A whole city cut into the red stone. Temples, homes, halls. Everything."

“I like exploring the desert temples,” Seraphina says, pushing onto her tiptoes to lean over the balcony. Pitch's hand darts out and pulls her back. She blinks up at him. “Can we go to see them, Papa?”

“Not this time; after we see your grandmother we're going to go back to the palace. We’ll come back soon.”

“Will you come with me, Jack?”

"I'd like that," Jack says, but when Pitch yawns he remembers why they are there. "But now I think your papa needs to rest."

Pitch pauses as though he's going to argue, but then nods. "Yes. I do."

"Me too, Papa," Seraphina says, stepping closer to him. "Can I go to my room?"

"Not here," Pitch says. "I want you to stay with me and Jack, so that I know you're safe."

She looks up at him with a frown. "But we're in Blenkeld. Aren't we safe here?"

"I don't know," he says quietly, running his hand through his hair and looking even more tired, if that’s possible. "But I will do everything I can to make sure that no-one hurts you, ever again."

"But my room is just next door-"

"No. It's only for tonight. When we get back to the palace I'll have them make up a room for you near ours."

"I can't even go to my own room at home?" She looks like she's either going to cry or throw a tantrum, so Jack crouches by her side.

"It's the same for me," he says. "When I first became the courtesan I had a lovely room with an amazing view, and all kinds of other rooms off my corridor. But something bad happened there-" He pushes away the thoughts of exactly what. "-so I've not been able to go there since then. It makes me feel a little sad, but I'd rather be safe. How about we make your new room even better than your old one? We'll work together, you and me."

She nods, and her grip on her bear slackens a little. "Alright."

When Jack looks up at Pitch he's startled – and touched - by the tenderness in his eyes.

They go into the bedroom and when Pitch opens the closet he pulls out a small chest. When he opens it, some of Seraphina's clothes are in there; he's kept them here all these years. She's given a bedrobe, and Jack is given one of Pitch's.

“Would you mind if we use your dreamsand?” Pitch asks, and Jack carefully pulls it off his necklace.

“Of course not,” he says. “After all, that's why you gave it to me.”

The bed is more than enough for the three of them, and with Jack's magic still cooling the room, it's pleasant under the thin sheets. Jack intends to meditate but the instant he closes his eyes he falls into a dreamless sleep.

He is the first one to wake. Seraphina is between himself and Pitch, her long hair splayed out on the pillow. She looks peaceful in sleep; there is none of the sadness that's been eating at her while awake. It's early days yet, but he hopes seeing her grandmother will cheer her, and then going back to the palace to her home. He wants to make her happy – part of it because he still feels guilt over freezing her, but mostly because her easy acceptance of him as part of her family forged an instant bond between them.

Movement catches Jack’s attention; Pitch is awake. He rubs his eyes and then touches Seraphina's hair, reminding himself once more that she is still there. His gaze is so soft and full of love when he looks down at her, and the corners of his lips tug into a smile. Though he still seems drawn and pale, looking at her makes him light up from within, and that makes Jack smile too. Pitch looks up and they gaze at one another. There's a trembling in Jack's chest, reminding him that they have much to talk about and apologise for, both of them, but it quickly subsides. No matter how they're argued and hurt one another, they will make it right; what they have is too precious to give up. In Pitch, Jack has someone that values him, someone that cherishes him and thinks he is important. He has someone that raced three thousand miles through the shadows because of a dream in the dimmest hopes that he might be able to rescue him.

It's enough to make Jack believe that he might be worth something after all.

Pitch reaches over Seraphina's head to run his fingers through Jack's hair, and the joy in his smile makes Jack return it. His chest feels a little tight but in a good way, and gods, he'd forgotten what it was like to be happy.

A knock at the door makes Seraphina stir, and Pitch glares over at it, annoyed. "Yes?"

A young man, short and wiry, pushes into the room and bows deeply. "Your highness," he says. "Lady Ravus and her group have been sighted at the checkpoint. They're half an hour away."

"Excellent. We'll get ready and meet her in the reception room. Have a meal prepared for her arrival."

"Yes, your highness," he says, and backs out of the room.

Seraphina closes her eyes and burrows back under the covers, holding her bear tightly; she's obviously decided she’s not getting up yet.

Pitch pushes out of bed and stretches, conjuring a couple of shadow men to watch over Seraphina. He pulls Jack up and leads him to the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack so that he can keep an eye on her as well.

There is no bath here; instead the room is tiled, and when Pitch pulls a lever, water starts to trickle from the bar above. When Jack puts his hand out, he finds that it's pleasantly cool.

"Water is scarce here, and this takes up far less water than a bath," Pitch explains, stepping under it and pulling Jack in beside him. He places his hands on Jack’s hips and grins. "Especially when you share."

Jack laughs and wraps his arms around Pitch's neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Pitch is so warm against his body, slick from the water, that it nudges his desire. Images of pleasuring Pitch tumble through his mind - of getting down on his knees, of letting Pitch push him against the wall, all kinds of things that sound like very good ideas. But they don't have time and Seraphina is so close, and that is enough to quash Jack's desire.

"When we get back to the palace I'm going to do _everything_ to you," Pitch murmurs, his lips brushing against Jack's. He pulls back slightly to smile. "Although you're still in charge - you'll have to _tell_ me what you want."

"I'll have to think up a plan, then," he says. “A good, long plan.”

They wash and dry each other and then Pitch leads the way into the large dressing room. He looks thoughtfully at the rails of clothes.

"I wish Amber was here," he says with a sigh and Jack laughs.

"Come on, I'm sure you can figure out one single outfit on your own."

They manage, though by the time he's dressed Jack is missing Amber too. He's wearing one of Pitch's tunics that falls past his knees and has to be cinched in with a scarf. Trews that must be tight on Pitch are loose on Jack and a foot too long so they have to be cut down. He looks ridiculous, like a child playing dress up. Pitch, on the other hand looks dashing in an eastern-style robe, loose and flowing, black with subtle beading on the neckline. Seraphina is pulled out of bed and dressed in a similar outfit. It makes Jack feel like he doesn't belong in this little family.

"We'll get Amber to make you something more suitable as soon as we get home," Pitch says. "And I'll make sure to have some of your clothes sent to all of my residences so that you'll always have something to wear." That perks Jack's mood, reminds him that he's being silly.

They head down to the ground floor and over to a wide open courtyard, the colours bleached out by the bright sunlight. It's stiflingly warm, even in the cool clothes, and Jack decides he doesn't much like it here. Too hot, too bright. He wants to be back in the palace, where snow should still be on the ground. Bare moments after they've stepped into the courtyard, the sound of running footsteps breaks into the sunlit silence. Lady Ravus skids into the courtyard, and then braces herself against the doorframe as she stares, wide-eyed, at Seraphina.

"Grandma!"

"Darling," says Ravus, breathless, and runs to Seraphina, dropping to her knees to pull her into a breathless hug. "Oh my darling," she whispers into her hair, her tears shattered by her laughter. "I didn't dare hope I'd ever see you again, and yet here you are as perfect as ever."

Seraphina smiles warmly at her, touching her salt-and-pepper hair. "I missed you, Grandma."

"Not even a little bit as much as I missed you, sweet Sera." She squeezes her hands and then looks up at Pitch. "I think we need to talk."

They go into a room with a large table and padded benches; a large, black and gold sofa in one corner of the room makes for a more casual seating option. It’s shaded but not nearly cool enough for Jack. He lowers the temperature with barely a thought, and Ravus looks at him sharply.

"Sorry, I can stop-"

"No, no, it's alright. I'm just startled, that's all.” She glances at his bare neck and her frown deepens. "It looks like there is much to catch up on." 

Servants come in with trays weighed down with food. It's all different to what he's become used to in the palace: seasoned meats on wooden skewers; coarse, savoury cakes; mashed beans; fresh vegetables and fruit, and bowls of creamy dips. Pitch picks up a slice of fruit and Jack decides that’s permission for him to eat as well. He piles up his plate with a little of everything. Seraphina watches and tries to match him, eating everything he does. 

The servants are dismissed, and for a little while there is light talk about the court in the east - a contest of bards; a new dressmaker who has a reputation to match Amber, and Jack is pleased to hear both Ravus and Pitch agree that to be nigh impossible. 

When everyone has eaten their fill, silence descends again. Ravus glances at Seraphina, who is curled up by her side, eating the last piece of fruit. 

“So,” she says. “We need to talk, but I don’t want to bore Seraphina - or scare her.”

“I won’t be scared,” Seraphina says, sitting up. “I’m brave, Grandma.”

“I would rather not have her out of my sight,” Pitch says, and conjures up a small nightmare from the shadows. Jack can’t be sure, but as she canters over to Seraphina he can’t help but think that it’s the same one as before. “But I agree that you might be bored. Why don’t you go and play while we talk?”

Seraphina frowns, but shrugs and goes to the sofa to play with the nightmare and her ever-present bear. 

With Seraphina distracted, Ravus turns to Pitch and whispers, "Karine?"

For a moment Pitch looks stricken, but then he shakes his head. Ravus's jaw tightens, and her eyes close. She has to take several deep breaths, and her eyes are glassy when she opens them again.

"I knew," she says softly. "I've always known. But then, I thought I knew about Sera as well."

"I'm glad you were wrong."

"As am I." She offers Jack a smile. “And I have you to thank, Jack.”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No, I did nothing-”

“You returned my granddaughter to me; nothing can tarnish that joy.” She smiles as she looks over at Seraphina, and then her expression hardens. "Tell me everything."

They skip through the story. Pitch tells most of it; when Jack tries fear closes his throat. Santoff Claussen, like Nightlight, stilled his fears. Being away from it makes it harder to think about what happened. Maybe he doesn't have to, though. Maybe he can pretend it didn't.

"Councillor Benard," Ravus says, shaking her head. "It seems so hard to believe."

"You knew Ben?" Jack asks, startled.

"Yes. I took part in some of the talks between Pitch's father and the Lunanovans. Benard always seemed so sincere in his desire for peace." She shakes her head, and glances up at Pitch. "What will you do now?"

“Declare war, of course.”

Ravus's eyes widen. "Pitch, _no_! We can’t overreact here. We need to be calm and rational-"

"He killed my wife!" Pitch yells, and Jack stares up at him. It's rare that Pitch raises his voice, and the grief in it is treacle-thick. He's been hiding it well, most likely for Seraphina's sake. But it's there, and it's devastating. Jack reaches over and squeezes his hand, offering whatever comfort he can.

"Yes. My daughter,” Ravus says sharply. “And I want him to pay. But you must tread carefully. Would you risk another Great War?"

He blinks at her, and then glances at Seraphina, at Jack. His eyes drop to Jack's chest and he knows that Pitch is thinking about the scars in his skin.

"We're safe now. Whatever he did to us, you have us back," Jack's surprised to find himself saying. "We have to stop him, but Lady Ravus is right. We should be careful."

"What would you suggest, Ravus?"

"That you insist on speaking with the Empress. Vonnya is still part of the Empire. If you declare war on it, you declare war on her. You don't want that."

"She's never answered any of my communications. Her father only answered once, to tell me that he had no interest in meeting me after my coronation. I don't hold much hope of her answering now."

“I daresay she will if you make it threatening enough. She might not even know much of what is happening in Vonnya.” She pauses, looking thoughtfully at Jack. “She might be interested in meeting Jack, too.”

“Me? Why?”

“Officially Sinar is still at war with Selena. She might be interested in speaking to you about that.”

“I'm not – I mean, I was the youngest prince anyway. Pretty much a nobody. It's not like I could sign a peace treaty or anything. And now – I'm Pitch's courtesan. But Pitch, you still have North in the garrison, don't you? Maybe if you agree to help him, he'll help you with this.”

“Perhaps. Although your father is still king. If he's alive.”

Jack stares. That hadn't even crossed his mind. So many dead in Lunanoff – of course his father might be numbered amongst them. Perhaps it's that his father barely seemed a person to him. Almost a malevolent spirit, bent on making his life a misery. But – dead? A hard ball of guilt sinks in Jack's stomach. He's not sure how to feel about this. Another thing to avoid thinking about. Pitch must see his reaction and he squeezes Jack's hand.

“I'm sorry-”

“It – it's okay. But North was the one to come and ask for help, right? That kind of makes him the leader of the Lunanovans that are left.”

“True.”

“I think it would be a good place to start,” Ravus says. “Please, Pitch. Involve me in your decisions. This is too important to decide alone.”

“Of course. Alden will be with me, and I'll speak to Tarr as well.”

A grimace flashes over Ravus’s face. It was clear at the autumn festival that she did not get along with Tarr; she mustn’t be looking forward to working with him again.

“Very well. But -”

“What is it?”

“Rumours of trouble in the north,” Ravus says, and shrugs. “Nothing more, here at least. Perhaps Aleksis or Onyx will have more information for you.”

Pitch pauses and looks like he's going to question her, but then he sighs. “Perhaps. I would like to get home.”

“The travel mages are ready for you to leave whenever you’re ready.”

“Then we’ll go now. The sooner we are home, the better I’ll feel.”

"Papa, no," Seraphina says, coming over and grasping her father's robe. "I don't want to - I hate the journey circle. You know I do. Let's go by carriage."

"No," Pitch says, so quick and harsh that Seraphina flinches. "No," he says again, more softly. "I know you don't like it but we have to. There's no time for a carriage journey."

"You could take her through the shadows," Jack suggests. "I can go alone-"

" _No,_ " Pitch says. "I'm not leaving either of you!"

"You have to look after Seraphina," Jack says. "She's the important one."

Pitch looks at him for a long moment and sighs. "You're important too, Jack. We're going by circle, Seraphina. Just think - you'll be home when it's over. It won't last more than a few moments. We'll spend the night in Langcott and then just once more by circle and we'll be home."

"We can travel on Jet to Langcott," Seraphina suggests. "And we can go by circle from there. Please Papa - I'll do it once, I'll be good, but please don't make me do it twice."

"It will take too long," Pitch says, shaking his head.

"No - we'd just be waiting in Langcott all that time anyway while the travel mages rest. At least this way we'd be having fun, too."

"She has a point," Jack says. "At least that way we'd feel like we're travelling." 

"Fine," Pitch says with a sigh. "Since you're ganging up on me."

Rav hides her smile behind her hand. "I see Sera still has you wrapped around her little finger."

"Always," Pitch admits, not that he looks upset by that. "As does Jack."

Not expecting that, it makes Jack smile.

They wrap up warm before leaving, even Jack, who doesn’t have the heart to argue with Pitch. 

Jet leaps into the air and gallops up into the sky in a spiral. Jack pushes the wind a little to speed their journey home, though he’s careful not to push too hard. Now that he has a better idea of how much using his magic will cost him, he doesn't want to exhaust himself. 

As they get away from the desert they pass over mountains, their tops splashed white with snow, and beyond them forests spread below them like evergreen carpets. The air gets colder and Jack whoops with joy as they pass through a flurry of snow, reaching out with his magic to touch it; not to change it, just to feel it. 

As they approach Langcott it gets colder still. From above the city looks like a confection doused in sugar. Smaller than Blenkeld, the architecture is more familiar, more like Iscadin, taller and more ornate. 

They land and Seraphina tugs on Pitch's sleeve. 

"Papa, what will happen to Jet? Can she come through the journey circle?"

"Perhaps it's best if she makes her own way," Pitch suggests, and Seraphina nods.

"You be careful," she tells Jet solemnly. Jet whinnies and nudges Seraphina with her nose, before leaping into he sky and heading west.

They are greeted much as they were in Blendkeld. Pitch has asked for Ravus's farspeakers to ask that no-one be told of their arrival save the travel mages, but the sight of flying horse is not a sight seen every day. A crowd awaits them, being held back by hastily gathered soldiers. A nervous middle-aged man greets them with jerky bows. 

"Greetings, your highness - I will present you-"

"No need. We must be gone as soon as we are able. Is the circle ready?"

"Y-yes, King Pitch."

The circle is in a building much like the one in Dun Doras. The travel mages stare at Jack curiously but none of them try to speak to him. He looks back at them, wondering if any have spoken to Ben - if any of them might even be spies. He holds Seraphina's hand a little tighter.

As they step into the circle, Pitch takes Seraphina's other hand and the mages start to chant in low voices that seem to reverberate against Jack's bones. He remembers standing on the dock in Lunanoff, the chanting of the priests filling his ears and nothing else because no-one had spoken up, no-one had said a single word to help him. The magic starts to rise in silvery steams from the edges of the circle and Jack's heart races, he wants to run-

And then the silver streams capture him and _throw_ him. It's as bright as the silver bridge but the sense of movement is intense, pressing down on him from all sides. It's all he can do to keep hold of Seraphina's hand as the magic steals his breath away. Panic gallops through him-

And then it's over. He is standing in another circle, ringed with vaguely familiar travel mages. His knees are shaking and threatening to give way, and Seraphina sobs softly by his side.

A voice roars through his panic, "Seraphina!"

She sniffles and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. "Aleksis!"

Aleksis steps forward as the sigils of the circle fade and smiles widely at Pitch. Jack is startled when he pulls Pitch into a tight hug – brief but full of feeling.

His familiarity with Pitch throws Jack. It was the same before, Jack remembers. A closeness between them that Pitch doesn’t seem to have with anyone else. Jack remembers planning to ask Pitch about it, but then… Then Kal died, and it didn’t seem important anymore.

A stab of grief makes it hard to breathe for a moment. Will that ever go away, he wonders? He glances at Pitch, who is watching as Aleksis picks up a giggling Seraphina and lifts her into the air. Grief is a constant shadow around his eyes, and Jack wonders how much worse it is for Pitch than for himself. He knew Kal just a few too-brief months, and though he loved him, it is nothing to a years-long relationship with a wife. Jack’s not sure he could cope; he hopes he’ll never have to find out.

“It is good to see you, Jack,” Aleksis says, Seraphina still in his arms. “Rumours have been flying since the king disappeared in his quest to find you; I’m glad that only the best of them are true.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, not sure how he feels about this man or his closeness to Pitch.

Still feeling unsteady from the journey, jealousy tugs at Jack with hooked hands. Aleksis has Seraphina balanced on his hip, looking handsome and dashing. His smiles come easily, and Seraphina chatters to him with an ease Jack could only dream of. He is the perfect father figure to stand by Seraphina and Pitch's side - and what is Jack? A troubled, scarred kid with too much baggage. He doesn't even have his collar anymore. Maybe this is the perfect time for Pitch to say he doesn't want Jack-

But then Pitch's hand goes to Jack's lower back and when Jack looks up at him, startled, Pitch smiles down at him with so much affection that Jack feels a fool for doubting him.

As they step out of the circle room, the wide windows across the hall show moonlit snow on the rooftops and on the tree branches. Jack summons a breeze to carry him over to look outside, joy trickling in him and corroding his doubts. Gazing out with a grin he feels the heavy clouds growing in the sky, feels the seeds of a snow storm growing in them. Frost spills out from his fingertips as he coats each window pane, delighting in his magic.

 _Ice mage_ , someone murmurs, _moon god_ murmurs someone else, and the joy slips away.

With a sigh he lands, and is pleased when Seraphina runs up to him.

"Will you take me flying, Jack?"

"Sure," he says to her, and grins, pleased. He'd like to see Aleksis do that! "How about when we get back to the palace?"

"Before we do anything else, Jethryn is going to check your magic," Pitch says. "After that - we'll see."

Jack knows that tone of voice. Pitch has no intention of letting them have fun, but Jack will think of a way. He’s determined not to let Ben suck all the fun from his life; this might be a small defiance, but it’s an important one for him as well as Seraphina. 

"Aleksis, I want to leave immediately. Is the sleigh ready?"

"Just as you requested, Pitch, with a strong guard. But if you don't mind, I'd like to go with you. We need to talk."

They go out into the crisp, bright evening, and Jack leans down to run his fingers over the snow. 

“How about a snowball fight when we get back,” Jack suggests to Seraphina, who grins at him. 

“Only if I can have Amber on my team!”

The sleigh is comfortable for the four of them; Seraphina, Pitch and Jack on one side, Aleksis on the other. Surrounding them on lean horses is a company of six guards, and as the sleigh sets off they stay by its side, ready to face any danger. 

“So what is it that you wish to talk of?” Pitch asks, and Aleksis sighs.

“Pitch, there has been talk amongst the people of Dun Doras of unrest in the north.”

“Ravus mentioned something of it.”

“But she cannot know as we do – it is a matter for Selenans, and some of us have been approached to join them – to join the north.”

“Join them? In what?”

Aleksis sighs. “It is all very cloak and dagger. They won't tell us unless we join. And of course those of us who have joined are no longer here.”

Pitch's eyes narrow. “How many have left?”

“Not even twenty. We are loyal to you here in Dun Doras.”

“Twenty out of how many?” Since he's been allowed to sit in this time, Jack can't help his question.

“There are more Selenans here than anywhere outside of the north,” Aleksis explains. “Almost five hundred of us.”

Jack blinks. “That's a lot of people.”

“I told Alden, who said that he'd look into it. But it's only been a few days – I don't know how far he's got.”

“There are a few Selenans in the north who always seem to be causing mischief,” Pitch says with a shrug. “You know that as well as I do, but it always comes to nothing.”

“This time it feels different,” Aleksis says, and leans forward, closer to Pitch. “I think that this is more than just rumours and belligerence, Pitch.”

“And what would you have me do?”

“Go there. Take Seraphina. Remind them that they are Umbrans, not just Selenans. Take Jack, too – that might calm their fires.”

“Especially if I tell them it was a Selenan that captured him. That hurt him.”

“What?” Aleksis turns to Jack with narrowed eyes. “One of our own hurt you?”

“A Lunanovan,” Pitch starts, but Jack cuts in.

“It was Ben, but Rikka, too,” he says, and after a moment of astonished silence, Aleksis swears.

“Language,” Pitch snaps with a meaningful glance at Seraphina, but when Aleksis apologises she only giggles.

“When Pitch questioned me about Rikka, I couldn't believe that she could have tricked me.” He shakes his head. 

“It seems that she tricked all of us,” Pitch says. “And it also seems that she was a much more powerful farspeaker than any of us knew. It's very possible that she was using her magic to trick us.”

Aleksis bites back on another curse. “If I find her-”

“If you find her, you will hand her over to me,” Pitch says, and there is something frightening in his voice. Aleksis nods.

“You trusted her and she betrayed you. How can we trust _anyone_ now?” Jack asks, trying to push away his panic and failing. He couldn’t trust his family to protect him. He couldn’t trust Ben, who was like an uncle to him but has done so many awful things. He couldn’t trust Rikka, and now there’s another spy in the palace, maybe more than one. Kader only mentioned one but Jack can’t trust him, either.

“We have to,” Pitch says, tilting Jack’s head to look at him. “Do you trust me?”

Jack nods without hesitation.

“Then trust in my judgement. Those I know well, I trust. Aleksis. Onyx. Amber – she’s the only one I allowed to touch you, remember? Alden and the other councillors-“

“Ben was one of my father’s councillors.”

Pitch pauses for a moment. “I hope you think I have better judgement than your father.”

Ducking his head, Jack nods. “Yes. But my mother trusted him too. All the other councillors. He fooled everyone.”

“I trust Alden – not least because his only son died because of Benard’s actions.”

Swallowing around a sudden thickness in his throat Jack nods. “I know! And I want to trust someone but I – I’m scared.”

“So am I, Jack. I’m _terrified_ that you or Seraphina will be taken from me again. But we have to trust our friends.”

“I, for one, am sorry about Rikka,” Aleksis says, shaking his head. “My judgement failed with her.”

Jack thinks of her voice in his mind, her controlling him. He breathes in sharply as the ghost of pain traces the sigils on his chest and he puts a hand to it, shaking. Pitch’s arm goes around his shoulder, steadying him, but it’s when Seraphina puts her hand on his knee that Jack is able to shake it off. She’s looking up at him, worry in her eyes, and Jack clenches his jaw. If she can be brave, so can he. 

“So what do we do? How are we going to find the spy?”

“The guests in my dungeon have sigils in their skin – perhaps the spy will have them too. I’ll ask Jethryn if he will be able to detect them on others.”

“If not, you could always ask everyone to strip,” Aleksis suggests with a grin.

“Oh yes, I’m sure the whole palace can’t wait to get naked in front of me,” Pitch says, and Aleksis’s grin widens.

“I would not mind going first - after all, it is nothing you have not seen before, Pitch.”

“Aleksis,” Pitch snaps, glancing meaningfully at Seraphina.

Jack’s eyes narrow. He _knew_ there was something between them. Jealousy coils tightly in his stomach. Aleksis, with his finely muscled body, handsome face and obvious ease around Pitch - how can Jack compare, skinnier than ever, scarred, traumatised and jittery? Clenching his jaw, he has to look away.

Pitch must notice his reaction, for he presses a kiss to his temple. Jack takes the gesture for what it is and takes a touch of comfort from it, but he can’t help wondering what Pitch and Aleksis meant to each other and most of all just how recently Pitch has seen Aleksis naked. 

“Ah, you know I joke,” Aleksis says. 

“Well don’t,” Jack snaps, surprising himself. “I don’t appreciate the humour. Pitch is with me now.”

“Of course,” Aleksis says, taken aback. “I meant no disrespect, Jack. I know how much you mean to Pitch. Please, forgive me.”

Jack gives a tight nod, not at all sure he does. 

Pitch and Aleksis spend the rest of the journey talking of those who have left Dun Doras to go north, and Jack stares out at the passing landscape, only half listening, not knowing any of the names. 

Soon enough they emerge from the forest and there is the palace in front of them. The tension in Jack’s neck and shoulders seems to melt away at the sight of it, his gaze lingering on the pointed turrets and tall walls. 

He’s _home_. 

Despite the snow there is a small gathering waiting for them on the steps, most of them wrapped in thick fur cloaks. At the front is Amber and Onyx, Amber's turquoise cape and fiery hair a splash of colour in the monochrome crowd. Behind them are Alden and Jethryn.

 _You can trust these people,_ Jack tells himself firmly, thinking of all the times that they could have hurt or kidnapped him and didn’t. All that they have done is help and protect him. 

As soon as the carriage rolls to a halt, Seraphina opens the door and hops out, escaping Pitch’s hand as he tries to grab her. She runs to Onyx and Jack is astonished to see how warmly Onyx greets her, holding her tightly, unabashed tears falling from her eyes. Seraphina tugs on Amber’s cloak and she joins in the hug too, wrapping her arms around the both of them.

Alden steps forward and gives Seraphina a smile, weighed down by sadness: he’ll never have his own child back. Jack puts a hand to his chest as though he can smother the hurt that chokes him at the thought of Kal.

Taking in a deep breath, he lets Pitch take his hand and lead him out of the carriage. Aleksis is to return to Dun Doras, and Jack can’t say that he’s sad to see him go. He fills Jack with all kinds of jealousy, and he hates feeling like that. 

“Pitch,” Alden says, turning to him. “I’m so happy for you. And Jack – it's good to see you.”

“It's _very_ good to see you,” Amber says, yanking Jack into a tight hug. He hugs back, incredibly glad to see her. Now that she's here, holding him tight, his eyes well with tears and it's all he can do not to sob in her arms. Biting his lip, he pulls himself together. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” she whispers, her hair tickling his nose. “And it’ll be even better to see _you_ once I get you out of those dreadful clothes,” she says, glaring down at them.

“You’re insulting your king’s sartorial choices,” Pitch says, folding his arms.

“My apologies, your highness; but all I can say is that it’s a good job you have me.”

Onyx steps forward next and bows stiffly to Pitch. “Next time you decide to disappear into the shadows _please_ tell someone.” The tightness in her voice tells Jack that she would like to say a great deal more, and be far less polite.

“I left a note,” Pitch says, smirking, and Onyx’s lips thin, though she manages to hold back from a response. 

After a quick round of greetings, Pitch suggests they go to Jethryn’s workrooms, out of the cold. 

"Me too?" Amber asks, surprised, and when she receives an affirmative she glances at Onyx and then at Pitch before inclining her head. "Of course, your highness."

When they arrive at Jethryn's rooms, there's a distinct lack of space. Jack is used to the cluttered workroom, and the two of them usually sit on cushions on the floor. The king, his chief councillor and advisor are a little more senior, and Jethryn fusses, clearing books and magical paraphernalia from chairs and couches to allow people to sit. The other things go into a closet, and Jack is reminded of nothing so much as his own childhood version of tidying his room - if it can't be seen, it counts as tidy - and he covers his smile with his hand.

"Jethryn - those men in my dungeons,” Pitch says. “The spell carved into their skin. Would you be able to sense that magic on another?"

"Yes, your highness," Jethryn says after a moment's pause. "It's an unusual spell - quite unique."

"Can you sense it on anyone in this room?"

Jethryn frowns and cocks his head, standing before each of them and examining them with his magic. When he examines Jack, he can feel it. Nothing tanglible - more like the feeling of being watched by unseen eyes.

"A little, on Jack," Jethryn says, and Jack touches his chest. The sigils, it must be.

"That makes sense," Pitch says, touching Jack's shoulder. "No-one else?"

Jethryn shakes his head and Pitch turns to Jack. 

"Is that enough for you? We need to trust someone."

Looking around at these people, Jack sees the faces that he trusts the most, even more than his own family. 

"Yes," he says. "I trust them."

“Pitch, what’s this about?” Onyx asks, folding her arms. She frowns at him. Like Pitch, she has dark circles under her eyes, like she hasn't been getting much sleep. Perhaps it's the rumours from the north, Jack thinks. She is from there, her father lives there and maybe other family as well. Jack hopes fervently that the rumours are unfounded. They have more than enough to worry about already.

“There is a spy in the palace, working for Benard. Since the men in the dungeons were spelled so that they couldn’t speak and betray him, I would guess that this spy would be as well.”

“A spy…” Alden rubs his chin. “That would explain how they knew where Jack was. But damn it - there are over two hundred people in this palace, not to mention those who work here but don’t live in. It could be any of them.”

“Is there a way you can check everyone in the palace for vestiges of the spell?" Pitch asks Jethryn.

"Only individually. It's not my natural shadow magic - it takes an effort."

"Then check Ivor and the council first, the kingsguard and then the other guards. No one is to have contact with Jack or Seraphina if they haven't been checked."

"What about those who will have contact with you?"

"I can look after myself."

"So can I," Jack says, holding his staff in front of him.

“Check Ivor and the kingsguard first,” Alden says. “Pitch, you need to meet with the council tonight. We need to know everything that has happened.”

Pitch scowls, though the effect is somewhat spoiled when he breaks into a yawn. “Very well. Convene the council. Onyx, I want you to go and get Ivor and the kingsguard and bring them here to be checked.”

“Of course.” 

“Amber - you still have all of Seraphina's clothes?"

"Of course, your highness, just as you ordered. They're in storage."

"Get them out of storage."

They bustle away to complete their tasks. When the four of them are alone, Pitch turns to Jethryn and gives him a brief overview of what happened to Jack. 

"First of all, I want you to check that all vestiges of the spell are gone from Jack's body. Ombric told me they had, but if you are able to detect it-"

"All that remains is the signature," Jethryn reassures him. "There is no active magic left at all."

"One more thing, then. Jack received a great knowledge of ice magic through a transfer from a farspeaker. I want you to check how far his control goes."

Jethryn turns to Jack, his eyes wide. "You've been given the knowledge of how to control your powers?"

“Yes - although I seem to get tired very quickly.”

“That makes sense - it’s like a muscle, you need to use it in order to build stamina. But as for the transfer - was the other ice mage as powerful as you?”

“I don’t think so. But she knew a lot of theoretical stuff even if she couldn’t do it herself, so I can use that to help access those parts of my magic.”

“Fascinating. I’d love to see those more esoteric magics-”

"You can write a paper on it later," Pitch says firmly. "For now I want reassurance that Jack is in control, and that using this transferred knowledge is not going to hurt him in any way."

"Of course,"Jethryn says, throwing on a cloak. "Please, come outside."

"Can we have that snowball fight now?" Seraphina asks, scooping up a handful of snow and shaping it into a ball, but before she can throw it, Jack throws ones of his own. With a wink he says, "Too slow!" and leaps into the air.

"That's not fair, I can't fly," Seraphina cries, throwing the snowball. Jack dodges. "When we play properly you're not allowed to fly," she says crossly.

"You can play later," Pitch tells her, taking her hand to quiet her. "For now - Jethryn, if you will."

Task after boring, simple task is done on command. A little frost lightning, a flurry of snow, a small sphere of ice. Jack does as he's asked with each one, but then he pulls the ice sphere apart, making a small and simple copy of the palace. Seraphina claps to see it, and Jethryn looks impressed.

“Can you make it snow even when it’s not cold?” She asks. “We could have snowball fights in summer!”

“I don’t know,” Jack says, and then nods, sudden surety coming into his thoughts along with a headache. “Yes, I think I can.”

“Just think, we could sneak up on Papa when he’s not expecting it and-“ She glances up to see Pitch looking down at her with his hands on his hips, trying and failing not to smile.

“You’re not going to catch me by surprise me now that you’ve told me about it.”

“You won’t remember,” she says easily, waving a hand dismissively at him and winking at Jack.

“So Jethryn – what are your thoughts?”

“I’m impressed. The transfer was very well done, and Jack seems to have a good handle on it. The stamina issue is only going to be improved with practice, so I think Jack should continue his lessons with me. Meditation will help him organise his thoughts and this new knowledge so that he can access it easily and without any pain.”

“That sounds good to me,” Jack says, still feeling elated over being able to use his magic so freely. With Jethryn helping him he’s sure that he can master everything he learned from Isa. The thought of Isa makes his spirits drop a little; he hopes Kader got her out of the prison to somewhere safe.

“I’m glad you have control over your magic,” Pitch says. “It makes me feel much better to know that you’re going to be able to protect yourself.”

“And Seraphina, too,”

There's a knock at the door that leads to the courtyard, and Onyx steps outside, looking at the ice sculpture with fascination before turning to Pitch.

"Ivor and the kingsguard are waiting in the corridor for Jethryn,” she says. “And Alden asked me to let you know that the council is ready for you."

Pitch sighs and rubs his eyes. "Very well. Please escort Jack and Seraphina back to my rooms, and stay with them. I'll come to update you after I'm done with the council."

She bows slightly. "Of course, Pitch."

"Do you want to come, Jack? You said that you wanted to be more involved, and this will be about what happened to you."

"I’ll pass," Jack says, yawning widely. That little show of magic was fun but it's really taken it out of him. He's definitely too tired to face going through what happened to him in front of a council of strangers. Let Pitch take care of that.

"You'll likely be in bed by the time I get back," Pitch says, giving him a sweet kiss. "And you definitely will be," he tells Seraphina, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

"I might not be," she says, looking up with a stubborn expression that looks very like her father's.

"We'll see," Pitch says with a smile. "As soon as you have checked Ivor and the kingsguard, send them to my rooms to watch over Seraphina and Jack," he tells Jethryn, who nods.

"I'll see you later," he tells Jack and Seraphina with one last kiss for them both, and then he is gone.

Jack sighs, feeling a little less safe without him there. Grasping his staff a little tighter, he reaches for Seraphina's hand. It’s up to him to protect her now. 

“Come on,” he says. “I’ll keep you safe.”

"Of course you will," she says, smiling up at him. "We're family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh there are so many incredible things that you wonderful people have done for this fic. [Cosplay](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/cosplay-of-my-fic-what), [fanmixes](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanmix-of-my-fic-what), [more fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart-of-my-fic-what) \- please make sure to check them out! 
> 
> I also made a [map](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/83973464783/making-a-map-is-something-ive-been-meaning-to-do) of Umbra and the other countries, and [Masterpost](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/84377301770/fanart-masterpost) of all the fanart so far :)
> 
> Also there are a couple more chapters of the modern AU of The Heavy Weight of Duty, entitled [Counterweight](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/84045131200/rotg-fic-counterweight-masterpost) (I'll be putting it up on AO3 soon-ish, probably after the next part). 
> 
> As ever, thank you so so much to my beta, [Impextoo](http://impextoo.tumblr.com/) for doing such a fine job, especially since she's so busy. Any errors that remain are my own. 
> 
> And of course, thank you to all of you: those who comment (and I'm so sorry I haven't been replying, I will soon!), those who leave kudos, or notes over on tumblr, or even those of you who lurk - I love you all and I'm so grateful that to you for enjoying this story <3


	23. Chapter 23

Rustling fabric makes Jack open one eye lazily. It’s Pitch, finished with his meetings for the day. Jack tried to stay awake and attend. He honestly does want to take part, but showing off for Jethryn took its toll. He hopes that his stamina will increase soon, but for now he has more interesting things to keep his attention, especially when Pitch drops his tunic to the floor. Jack’s gaze takes in the toned arms, the slim torso. Something stirs in him – the need to touch, to be held by those arms. A matter of comfort but there’s an element of heat there, burning bright, that he's not felt in too long.

"C’mere,” Jack says, his voice husky from sleep, and Pitch looks over at him, examining him as he does every time of late; as though he fears that this is but a dream that might disappear at any moment.

Pitch follows Jack’s command and comes to the bed, sitting at the edge of the mattress. "How are you feeling?”

"Better,” Jack says, and pulls Pitch down to him, and arranges them so that Pitch is on top of him, straddling him, and Jack sighs at the feel of Pitch’s weight on him. It anchors him, makes him feel safe, though doubts hiss in the back of his mind that safety is nothing but an illusion.

 _No,_ Jack thinks. While he is with Pitch, he is safe. Of that he’s certain. Pitch would die before letting anything happen to him.

While gazing down at him, Pitch runs his fingers through Jack’s hair, along his jawline, down his neck and his sternum, and then pauses to gaze down at the sigil-scars. Long moments pass, and Jack starts to get nervous. It’s strange considering how he felt about the scar on his face, but he doesn’t mind these scars. To him, they represent a strange kind of freedom – a symbol that he can’t be controlled. But what does Pitch see when he looks upon them?

"What is it?” Jack asks, little more than a whisper, afraid of the answer.

"Nothing,” Pitch says, and looks up at Jack’s face with a shadow of a smile. Jack aches to leave it there and not go any further, but he is tired of letting doubts pile up until they consume him.

"Tell me. Please.”

"They remind me how badly I failed you,” Pitch says softly, tracing the sigils. "How I promised I would protect you, only to have those bastards hurt you.”

"You shouldn’t blame yourself. I don’t.” Yes, he blamed Pitch for not taking him to Blenkeld, but in this he only blames Ben with a red-hot fury. "To me… To me, these scars mean that no-one else can control me. That I am the one in charge of my future. But – does it bother you? Seeing the scars? I could keep them covered-"

"No,” Pitch says quickly, shaking his head. "I don’t want you to cover anything. It's just..."

Jack is startled to see his eyes shine with tears; even more startled when they begin to fall.

"I failed you," Pitch whispers, and hides his face against Jack's neck. "I failed you."

"No," Jack murmurs, tears pricking his own eyes as Pitch begins to sob. "No. This - this is all Ben's fault. All of it."

"I promised to protect you! I was so afraid - I thought I'd never see you again. I thought - I thought that you were- and my last words to you were in anger-" The word breaks, and tears drown any that follow. Jack doesn't know what to do. Only once has he seen Pitch like this, and that was over Karine and Seraphina. He never even considered that Pitch would react like this over him. His wife and child, yes - but Jack? Yet here he is. Acting as though Jack means as much to him as Karine did. As if he is just as important. The thought makes his head spin and he holds Pitch a little tighter.

"I'm here," Jack whispers to him. "I'm here. Those angry words don't matter. Only that we're together again."

"They do matter. I'm so sorry, Jack. So sorry."

"Me too."

He's glad when Pitch doesn't try to push the subject; he's not ready to talk about that yet. Instead he holds Pitch while he weeps, as Pitch has done so many times for him. When will the tears stop, Jack wonders. When can they just be happy?

Slowly Pitch quiets, and he pushes himself onto his elbows. He starts to wipe his damp cheeks, but Jack stops him.

"Let me," he says, and gently wipes the tears away with the sleeve of his robe.

Pitch gives him a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Jack. This is not what you had in mind for tonight."

"Maybe not, but this is more important," Jack says and kisses Pitch gently. "You're more important."

"That's the sort of thing I'm usually saying to you."

"Maybe it’s true for both of us."

"It is," Pitch says, and kisses him. He lets out a shaky breath and looks at Jack's scars. With one finger he trails the sigils. "You said that to you, these mean that you control your own destiny?"

"Yes," Jack nods. "Ben gave me to you to break my spirit - instead I found the person I want to spend my life with. He carved these into my skin to bend me to his will and he still couldn't do it. And if a man who is cunning and strong enough to wrest control of Lunanoff and now Vonnya couldn't control me, then no one can. No one but myself."

Pitch looks at him, his face full of wonder. "You want to spend your life with me?"

"I wouldn't have agreed to be your courtesan if I didn't."

"If I gave you the choice again, now-"

"Then I would stay. I wouldn't even need to think about it."

"Oh, Jack," Pitch holds him tightly once more. "You make my heart hurt, but in the best way."

Jack bites his lip. That’s about the best thing anyone has ever said to him. 

"I feel the same. Not all hurts are bad.” 

"Indeed they’re not,” Pitch says, and yawns. "I’m sorry, Jack-”

"Sleep,” Jack tells him. "It has been a long day. Week. Month, even.”

"Too long. I couldn’t sleep without you in my bed.”

"Then sleep. You can give me what I want tomorrow,” Jack says with a grin. 

"And the day after, and the day after…”

"I’ll hold you to that.”

"You’d better.”

===

In the morning, Amber takes Seraphina to look through her clothes, to see what needs replacing or repairing, but mostly to give Pitch and Jack some alone time. 

Pitch suggests a bath and Jack agrees. Many of his best memories in Umbra involve water. Jack doesn’t miss the irony in that. 

When they are sitting in the warm water, its surface scattered with shiny droplets of scented oils, Jack lets his head drop to Pitch’s shoulder and entwines their fingers. He breathes in deeply: the steam carries the woody scents from the oils and the tension in his shoulders melts away in the heat. For a few precious moments there is nothing but silence and the two of them, and all is as it once was, as it should be. 

"I told the council everything you told me,” Pitch says, breaking the moment, and Jack has to bite back on a sigh. "My thinking was that even if one of them _was_ the spy, there would be nothing new there. Now that Jethryn has checked them all, we can move on to what we’re going to do about it.”

"What about Jethryn himself? Who will check him?”

"I did so myself last night, after you and Seraphina were in bed. The method Aleksis suggested.”

Jack frowns. "You saw him naked?”

"Indeed. Not something either of us ever thought would happen, but it was necessary.”

"What about Aleksis?” Jack starts before he can stop himself. "When was the last time you saw _him_ naked?”

Pitch glances at him, startled. "A year or so ago.”

"You- you were lovers?” _Stop it, you don’t want to know._

"Yes. Both before Karine and after. He is one of those that I mentioned, that I trusted enough to go to after she disappeared.”

"And - did you go to him after _I_ disappeared?”

Pitch stares at him, clearly distraught. "No! Sex was the last thing on my mind! I could barely think clearly - every ounce of my energy, my concentration was focused on bringing you home. Gods, Jack - it took me two years to begin to get over Karine. Do you think you mean so little to me that I would move on in less than a month?”

"I don’t know. I was so awful to you before that-”

"No,” Pitch says, shaking his head. "You were grieving. I understood that. I won’t pretend that you didn’t hurt me, but I understood. I wanted no-one else - I _want_ no-one else. Only you, Jack. Only you.”

He’s so sincere that Jack blushes, embarrassed by his moment of doubt. Moving closer to rest safe in Pitch’s arms, they sit in silence until the water cools. 

When they get out and start to dry, Pitch takes the towel from him and takes over the drying duties. Memories of the courtesan ceremony come to Jack and he smiles. 

The towel is soft against his skin, and he sighs contentedly; it's almost like a massage. His eyes fall shut as Pitch gently dries his arms and back, his legs - but they fly open when the attention moves to his cock.  
Pitch is on his knees, and he is still gentle, but he lingers longer. Jack breathes out slowly, feeling himself get hard.

"Do you want me?" Jack asks, opening his eyes.

"I always want you." Pitch looks up at him, damp hair falling over his forehead.

"I want you too," Jack breathes; Pitch abandons the towel and uses his hand to slowly stroke Jack's cock. "Will you - use your mouth?"

"Gladly."

The first touch of his tongue to the tip of Jack's cock makes him yelp, and then moan gently. The pleasure unfurls inside him, reminding him of just how good it feels to have Pitch's hands and mouth on him. A thumb digging into his hip is a spot of bright pressure; the other hand reaches behind him to scratch nails over his buttock. It makes Jack shiver and sigh. He tangles his hands in Pitch's hair, and looks down at him, watches him at work. 

_My king, on his knees,_ he thinks, and smiles. _For me._

The _heat_ of Pitch's mouth! It feels so good, it's almost unbearable. Jack gives a small whine, his hands tightening where they rest in Pitch's hair.

"Sorry," he gasps, but Pitch doesn't berate him. He just glances up with a flash of gold, and holds Jack's gaze as he slides his lips down Jack's cock, taking all of him in. Jack shivers and whimpers, god he wants- he wants-

His ability to think slips away as drowns in the feeling of Pitch's mouth on him. Hot and good, perfect, _his_ -

Jack doesn't even cry out when he comes. The pleasure slams into him all at once, so hard that he can't breathe. Just aborted little gasps as he spills his seed onto Pitch's tongue, his whole body shaking.

"I need - sit down."

Pitch lowers him and holds him tightly in his arms, murmuring endearments and kissing him as he slowly stops shaking. That's the first orgasm he's had in a month - more than a month - and he'd forgotten how incredible Pitch's touch could make him feel. Forgotten how it could bind them together.

Draped across Pitch's lap, he can feel how hard his cock is, and as soon as he can breathe properly again, he resolves to do something about it.

He shifts and pushes Pitch's legs open and lies on  the cool tiled floor.

"You don't have to, Jack."

"I know I don't," Jack says, and settles on his belly. He takes Pitch's cock in hand and then strokes it gently. He feels out of practice so he goes slowly, licking Pitch's cock all over before taking the head in his mouth. He's startled when that's enough, when Pitch starts to come just from that, and jerks backwards. Most of Pitch's seed gets on his cheeks and lips. It's so hot against his skin, almost painfully so. Jack shivers and licks it off his lips, then glances up at Pitch. He's breathing heavily, his eyes glazed as he looks down at Jack. He looks - wrecked. The way Jack thinks _he_ usually looks after sex. Pitch is usually so together, at least compared to him, that's interesting to see him like this. It stokes a protective urge in him.

Pushing himself onto his knees, Jack touches his cheek, and wipes the seed he finds there onto his fingers before sucking it off them. He holds Pitch's gaze all the while. Pitch gives a noise, almost a growl, and pushes Jack onto his back, straddling him and kissing him roughly.

"You're mine," he whispers.

"I'm yours."

Pitch wraps his arms around him tightly, enough to hurt, and Jack does the same, breathing Pitch in. It makes him feel safe and happy, and although there's still a twinge of doubt in him, it's weaker now, weak enough to ignore.

They stay there until Pitch pulls back with a smile. "Now we need to wash again."

They do just that, soaping each other up in the lukewarm water and quickly drying each other, still gentle but this time they refrain from anything more.

"I'm so glad to be home," Jack says when he's dry and has pulled on his robe.

"As am I. I'm not certain I've ever been as happy as this. To have not only yourself back by my side, but Seraphina too... With the two of you, I've been given something I never thought I'd have again. A family."  
Jack stares at him. 

"You mean it," he whispers. "You - you think of me as family."

"You _are_ family."

Jack throws his arms around Pitch's neck. Seraphina said the same, but she's just a child. Her views of the world are simple, and as sweet as she is. Jack never thought that Pitch would repeat her words.

Jack’s eyes well up with tears and he gives a laugh that’s more than half a sob. Pitch murmurs his name and pulls him close, worry in his eyes. 

"I’m just so happy,” Jack explains. "That you think of me as family. Quite the improvement on my old one.”

"Of course I think of you as family - and not just because of Seraphina. You’ve always been family to me. And I would certainly hope that we’re better than your old family.” Pitch sounds almost insulted, and Jack gives another laugh-sob. 

"Much better,” he assures him, and pulls him down for another kiss. 

===  
   
An hour later, Jack and Pitch stand before the doors to the council chambers. They are tall, reaching far above Jack’s head. Dark wood is inlaid with gold that forms a frame for a deeply-etched interlacing pattern of squared off knots endlessly repeating. Jack follows the pattern, concentrating on them in an attempt to silence the nerves bubbling inside him. 

At least he’s dressed for the occasion. Amber put him in something that would hide his hurts as well as make him look more suited to a council meeting. A black doublet with a high neckline - to hide both his scars and the fact that he isn't wearing a collar, he supposes. It's a beautiful silk with a spiralling pattern woven into it that reminds him of his frost markings, though his arms are covered by billowing sleeves that obscure them. The breeches are tight and sturdy, and the only mark of his status is his bare feet. The last time he wore anything like this was when he went to Iscadin to see Councillor Marek. There he was but a sign of Pitch's strength; now he is here to speak and advise, and though he is the one who asked for this, he's not at all sure he's ready for it.

There are a few touches that he asked Amber to add. His eyes are lined in silver, finger and toenails painted to match. A little jewellery too - a plain silver anklet and toe-ring, and a sapphire drop in his earlobe. He asked for just a little prettiness to appeal to Pitch, and he’s rewarded by frequent appreciative glances. She gave him a moon-shaped belt buckle too, saying that she had it made to match his pendant. He smiles, touched at her thoughtfulness. 

"Are you ready?” Pitch asks, and Jack shakes his head.

"No. Not at all.” Jack gives him a weak smile. "But I’ll do it.”

"You are so brave,” Pitch murmurs and kisses him gently. When he pulls away, he sighs softly and touches his fingertips to Jack’s bare throat. Within Jack a sudden spark of desire at his king’s hand on such a vulnerable, sensitive part of his body wars with a pang of loss from the absence of his collar. "We must get you a new collar, as soon as we can. Without it and with your markings half-hidden, it almost seems like you are not mine…”

"I _am_ yours,” Jack says. "It is not the markings or the collar that make me yours. It’s that I _chose_ you.” Summoning a breath of wind to lift him from the ground, he kisses Pitch, softly at first, but it quickly heats up until they are both breathless when they pull away. Jack licks his lips at the sight of the naked desire in Pitch’s eyes. Letting himself drop to the floor, Jack crosses his arms so that each hand touches the opposite elbow, and he lets frost spill over the fabric  of his sleeves, mimicking his markings. Pitch’s smile is bright at the sight of it, and he kisses Jack again. Though it is brief, there is a tempting heat in it; only reluctantly do they pull apart.

"I think that when we get back to our rooms, I will ask Amber if she can watch over Seraphina a little longer,” Pitch suggests, and Jack laughs lightly.

"I would like that. A bright spark to look forward to, to help me get through this ordeal.”

"It won’t be so bad as that,” Pitch says. "You will only need to give your opinion on things, although you are free to speak up whenever you wish. As I said, I have told them everything that you told me so that you don’t need to go through it again. We will discuss Lunanoff as well, which is another reason I want you here.” 

Jack sighs. "I’m guessing this will be a long meeting.”

Pitch smiles. "Perhaps. But if you really desire it, you can leave whenever you want.”

With a sigh, Jack nods and gestures at the door. "Let’s go in before I lose my resolve.”

The council room is very grand. The marble tile is cool beneath Jack’s feet, and the pale winter sunlight streams in from tall windows that almost reach the ceiling, bordered by thick velvet drapes. Two walls are composed entirely of bookcases. Jack glances at the nearest and sees titles such as _Northern Mining Laws Volume XIII_ and _A Detailed History of Agriculture in the Coastal Regions_.  On the wall beside the door is a large map of the world in a golden frame, and Jack searches for Vonnya. Across the channel of water marked _Ishish Sea_ is Sinar, and Vonnya is to the south of that. At Vonnya’s southern tip is a tiny piece of land marked   _Santoff Claussen_. Instantly his thoughts leap to Nightlight. Just the thought of him is enough to make Jack feel a little braver, although it makes him miss him terribly.

Pitch puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder, guiding him to the table. Its surface shines even in the dim sunlight. Large and perfectly round, it is ringed with runes and upon it lies a large parchment map of Umbra. Onyx and nine councillors sit around it, looking at him curiously.

It makes Jack feel a little bit of an imposter as he sits down between Pitch and Alden, people he knows and trusts. Onyx is on the other side of Pitch, but otherwise the rest are strangers, save for the briefest of meetings. He is no councillor, with the knowledge and experience to make decisions about the fate of Umbra. But he has knowledge that no-one else does, about Ben and his plans and about Lunanoff, too. He can make a difference here, and he pushes the discomfort away.

He looks at the strangers circling the table. All of them wear the grey robes of the council. Apart from Alden there are four men, two of whom are highborn, two lowborn. Three council members are women, two highborn and one lowborn. Most of them are of an age with Alden, in their forties, but one of the men is young with sandy blond hair and green eyes; he looks to be in his early twenties. A highborn woman is much older, her hair pure white, and she gives Jack a gap-toothed grin.

Introductions are given, and then Pitch launches into the discussion.

"Yesterday, I gave you a report of what happened to Jack and Seraphina. Today we need to decide how we are going to react. Ravus suggested that the first thing we need to do is talk to the Empress."

"I agree,” Alden says. "We can’t act until we have spoken to her, or at the very least a representative, though I would prefer if we could speak to her directly.”

"Indeed, but getting any kind of response from Sinar has always been a challenge.”

"As well as the usual channels, I could press the traders,” says a highborn councilwoman named Lita. "What little trade there is between Umbra and Sinar only runs because we allow it. If I threaten that, they’ll pass on a message to their buyers - rich folk who can put pressure on the Empress’s senate.”

"Do it,” Pitch says. "And Alden – you go through official channels. Make the urgency of it clear. I want a response within two weeks.”

Lita and Alden glance at each other, but they nod.

"And if we do go to war,” says Mika, an older lowborn man on the opposite side of the table, his arms folded across his barrel chest. "What then, your highness? War is costly. Both in money and in lives.”

"I am hoping it won’t come to that,” Pitch says; Jack notices that he’s handling himself much better than he did with Ravus.  Perhaps it’s that his relationship with the councillors is purely professional; it allows him to mask the pain that Jack knows rages within. Jack tries to do the same, but this talk of war flickers at him like fire. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he forces himself to listen to Pitch. "I would prefer if the Empress acts. Surely she will want this _Tsar_ out of her country?”

"But if it _does_ come to war-"

"If it comes to war, then it is one we will fight. Benard has already killed half of Lunanoff and taken over one country, at the cost of who knows how many lives. Do you think it will end there? Do you think a man with such ambition is going to be happy with a little country with no resources to speak of? No. And I am sure the Empress will see that as well. Even if it comes to war, I do not think we will be fighting alone.”

"But-"

"What would you have me do, Mika? Let the murder of my wife, the kidnap of my daughter and my courtesan go without punishment? He has spies in my palace, and only the gods know where else they are, what other plans already set in motion. I want him brought down. Jack – you know Benard. Do you think he will stop?”

Jack startles at being spoken too, and he looks around the councillors with wide eyes and then takes a big gulp of water before he speaks. "I don’t think I do know Ben,” he says. "Not really. I don’t think any of us did. But he – he obviously thirsts for power. Why would Vonnya be enough for him when nothing else has been?”

"Is there anything you can think of that might help?” Asks Lita. "Anything Benard said?”

Memories of just what Ben did say to him flash through his mind, but Jack forces himself to concentrate on the moment, staring intently at the wood grain of the tabletop. "He said - he said he was going to-” Jack licks his lips, trying to ignore the fear that claws at his heart. "To use me. Since I look so much like the moon god. He said that the Selenans here on the planet would flock to him if he had a prince who looked like the moon god on his side.”

"That doesn’t seem to have worked so well for us,” Mika huffs. A glare from Pitch, colder than anything Jack could summon, quickly silences him. 

"Anything else? Any associates?”

Jack shrugs angrily, frustrated that he has been through so much yet has so little information to show for it. "No. Everyone was Lunanovan, other than Rikka. Oh - there was a man in a feathered cape. Amber mentioned that is the fashion in Sinar, so I guess that’s where he was from.”

"Not necessarily,” Alden says. "The fashion has spread throughout the empire.”

"It could give us a clue though,” Lita says. "Jack, do you remember what it looked like? Some types of feathers are favoured in different places, and there are even some that are forbidden for commoners to wear.”

Seeing a chance to provide information of importance, Jack casts his mind back to a time he would rather completely forget. He tries to concentrate on that man, and only him. Not Rikka. Not Riann, severing Isa’s finger. Not being forced to thaw Seraphina. Jack’s heart is racing, and with a great force of will he thinks of the man. "It was a short cape. Down to his waist. And the feathers… Blue. Fading to black at the tips.”

Lita gasps, and she’s not the only one. Near every face around the room is shocked, and a couple of the councillors mutter amongst themselves. 

"That is the cape normally worn by members of the Empress’s senate,” Alden says slowly to Jack, and then turns to the rest of the council. "But I’m not sure if we should read too much into this. Yes, it is forbidden, and in Pluma a commoner wouldn’t dare to wear it. But in Vonnya, hundreds of miles away from the capital - that’s a different story. Especially if the man is a rebel. It could be a symbol of his defiance.”

"Or it could be a symbol of a traitor in the Sinaran court,” Pitch says. "Or it could mean that Benard has the Empress’s blessing.”

"Either way,” Alden says quickly. "We need to talk to her first and foremost. Lita and I will reach out to our contacts as soon as this meeting is over.”

"Very well then.” Pitch says. "Onto our next topic. The Lunanovans, and what to do with them.”

A highborn man named Paman sits forward, linking his fingers together. "We had many discussions about that while you were – ah, planning Jack’s rescue.”

"Is that so? What are your thoughts?”

"We came up with an idea,” Alden says. "I'm not sure how much you will like it, but it is one that has advantages for both sides.” He points at the map on the table. "Assuming that the Lunanovans' ultimate goal is to cleanse and reclaim Selena, we could give them a small area of the borderlands. Since some of the land on our side of the border is still tainted, they could try to cleanse that; if they are successful, they can move on to Selena. They get their goal, and we get more of our own land returned to us.”

Could that work? Since Jack got to Umbra, people have insisted to him that there is no way to cleanse the taint; but if anyone can do it, the Lunanovans can. Perhaps Bunny, with his nature magic, and his mages who ran the hydroponic gardens. They teased life and greenery out of the dry lunar soil with little water; mayhap cleansing the soils here will be child's play.

Pitch is lost in thought for long moments, staring at the map with a deep frown. "And the logistics?” 

"If there are a thousand of them, well; it is a large number of people it's not so large as all that. We have enough food to spare if we put them on rations, and we can provide tents. Healers from Dun Doras have already offered their aid to the wounded.”

"I want them guarded at all times,” Pitch says.

"General Irann has already offered his men. We can put the Lunanovans near their outpost.”

Pitch taps his fingers on the tabletop and looks at his councillors. "It seems you have planned this whole thing from start to finish.”

"We had time, your highness,” Alden says softly, and meets Pitch’s eyes. They gaze at one another and Jack is worried that Pitch will get angry again. But he only nods, and then turns to Jack. 

"Do you have any thoughts on this?”

"M-me?”

"They're your people – they're also the ones who betrayed you. Would you feel comfortable with them here in Umbra?”

 _No,_ he thinks immediately. "Th-that outpost – where is it?”

Alden pulls the map over to them. "Here is the palace – and here is the outpost. It's about a three hour journey. There is nothing nearby, which would make it a good location. There's no-one around to get hurt, should anything happen.”

Jack looks at it for a long time before answering, and nods his head, just once. "Yes. I mean – I wouldn't say that I’m _comfortable_ with it, but- We can't just let them die. I think this is a good solution. It will help everybody.”

"Not everybody,” says Mika, his frown still in place. Sourly, Jack wonders if it is permanent. "There will be people who will dislike the fact that you are giving asylum to people who have been stealing water from us – who have killed people in their thievery!”

"That is true, but the merits outweigh that risk.”

"With rumours of rebellion from the north, this is not a time for risks, your highness,” he replies tartly.

"Those same rumours say that the rebels are Umbrans with Selenan ancestry. I would imagine that our helping their kin would cool their fires, not stoke them.”

Mika purses his lips, but says nothing further.

"Speaking of the north,” Onyx says, clasping her hands. "I would like to ask permission to go and investigate the truth of these rumours.”

Pitch stares at her, shocked. "Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous. You are still my heir - after Seraphina - and you would be too tempting a prize to capture.”

"They're my people, Pitch. I have a duty to protect them, and if my father isn't doing it, I must."

"We don't know the situation," Pitch says, shaking his head.

"And we _won't_ until we get someone up there."

"I don't see why that someone has to be you. It's dangerous, Onyx-"

"More dangerous than flitting off into the unknown on the behest of a dream?"

Pitch has the decency to look embarrassed. "Very well, but take a contingent of guards. Ones that have been checked by Jethryn."

She nods. "I'd like to go tomorrow, if possible. I feel that the sooner this is dealt with, the better it will be for all of us.”

"If you insist. Be careful, Onyx. Learn what you can but take no risks. I mean it."

"I know you do," she says softly.

Jack chews at his lip, hating the idea of Onyx leaving the palace. It's safe here – Kader said so himself, it was only when Jack left the palace that he was successfully kidnapped. And more than that; now he's home, he wants his family with him, and he counts Onyx as part of that family. He knows she is right, and that the situation in the north needs investigating, but he wishes someone else could do it.  
The rest of the meeting is made up mostly of making sure everyone is in agreement with what has been decided. Some of those agreements come grudgingly, but in the end they are all in accord. 

It is decided: Onyx will go north, and the Lunanovans will come to Umbra. Jack isn’t sure which decision he likes the least. 

===

Jack doesn’t want to see his brother and sister. 

He said as much to Pitch the night before after the council meeting, but when Pitch said Jack didn’t have to go, that’s when Jack knew he truly did. Sooner or later he will have to face them, and better now; the fire of his resentment will only burn hotter with time. 

Pitch is by his side as they walk through the palace. Once more Jack misses his collar. Were Pitch leading him by the leash, he would feel better about this, more secure in his place in the world. Without it, he feels like he is bumbling about, clumsy and uncertain of what he is doing. To want to control one’s destiny, yet to fear failure and want to be led - Jack sees the contradiction in his thoughts. He wants guidance, he doesn’t want to walk alone-

He glances at Pitch out of the corner of his eye and feels the worst of his fears settle. _I’m not alone_.

The staff in his hand gives him further confidence. With his king by his side and his focus in his hand, he need not fear. 

"Jack!”

Startled from his thoughts, Jack turns and sees Monty on the other side of the hall, books piled in his arms and a wide grin on his face. He runs over and bounces a little on the spot in his excitement.

"I'm so glad to see you! I was so worried, when I heard the gossip in the kitchens about you being taken. But you're here, and you're well!”

"Mostly well, but definitely here,” Jack says, glad to see his friend, even gladder to see that Monty seems genuinely happy to see him. Without Kal, Jack has been thinking of himself as bereft of friends, but here is one that Jack has been neglecting. Too caught up in feeling sorry for himself, he has not seen what is right in front of him. 

"Is there anything I can do to help?” Monty asks. "I’m no healer and I don’t know any magic, but I could get you some books.”

"Actually, yes. I'd like to read something about the north, and about Sinar. An overview first, maybe.”

"Sinar?” Monty gives a nervous smile. "Did you get bored of Fintan?”

"Sinar is more pressing at the moment. And something similar for Vonnya.”

Monty nods, a frown creasing his brow. "I can get those for you – but why?”

"Ben – the man who took me – is trying to take over Vonnya. I'd like to read as much as I can about it before we do anything.”

"Anything? Like what?”

"Jack, we must go,” says Pitch, interrupting their conversation.

Jack nods, and Monty gives him a nervous half-bow, dropping his books then scrabbling to pick them up. "I'm sorry for keeping you, your highness.”

"Have the books delivered up to my rooms. The guards on the door will accept them for Jack to collect on his return.”

"Of course, your highness.” Bobbing again, Monty turns to Jack and gives him a wobbly smile. "I really am glad to see you back.”

"I'm glad to be back.”

As they walk towards the entrance hall, Pitch says, "You should be careful who you say such things to, Jack. That boy hasn’t yet been checked by Jethryn.”

Jack stares up at him. "Monty? Surely you don’t think Monty is the spy.”

"Perhaps not, but it goes beyond that. Who might he speak to, and who might overhear him?”

Jack sighs. "Even so. Ben must know that you’re going to retaliate.”

"Indeed he must,” Pitch says darkly.

The day is brisk as they step outside. Ice has formed a crust over the snow and Jack delights in the crunch of it under his feet. Even the hated boots can’t dampen his joy too much - but then the thoughts of the task ahead do. 

They are to ride Jet to the garrison; an airborne journey means less possibility of attack. She arrived the day before and has been staying in the stables, as far away from the other horses as possible. She makes them nervous, and no amount of coaxing from the hostlers makes any difference. Still, Jack is glad to see her, and when he touches her nervously, she nudges him with her nose, as friendly to him as she is to Pitch and Seraphina. A tiny gesture of acceptance, but Jack has had too few of those in his life and he’ll accept them wherever he can get them.

They climb on, and Jack leans back against Pitch. They trot out into the daylight and Jack gazes out at the gardens as Jet leaps into the air. The palace soon seems like a tiny playset as the get higher and higher. In the air, they travel more quickly than by road, and they're there in a matter of minutes.

The garrison approaches, and as they land Jack's stomach tightens painfully. He can't help but think of all that happened the last time they were here, but he forces himself to climb from Jet's back.

In the daylight, the garrison is clearly that, functional with little ornamentation. The same soldier who greeted them before awaits them, his expression just as serious. In the daylight Jack can see that he has three scars crossing his cheek, temple to chin, and Jack touches his own scar.

"Your highness,” the soldier says with a stiff bow. "Councillor Alden has sent to us a troop of palace guards to take the Lunanovans to the bridge, should they agree to your terms. Might I ask why my men could not do this?” 

"It’s not meant as an insult, Conner,” Pitch says. "I just want this matter dealt with by royal guards.”

Conner doesn’t look much comforted, but he gives a shallow bow. "As you wish, King Pitch.”

Jack and Pitch go through the garrison, further than they went before, and Pitch looks closely at Jack. "Are you sure about this? You can still turn back.”

"I’m sure. They are my siblings after all, and I am Lunanovan.” He pauses, and shrugs. "Although these days I feel as much Umbran as Lunanovan. Like I have one foot in each place.”

"It warms my heart to hear that.”

"Umbra is my home as Lunanoff never was. When I was being held captive and longing for home, I didn’t once think of Lunanoff. It never even crossed my mind. Only Umbra, and you.”

Pitch halts to stare at Jack, and then pushes him up against the wall, kissing him deeply. Jack is boxed in by his strong arms, Pitch’s whole body pressed close, and he gives a whimper as Pitch gently bites at his lower lip. Their lips meet and Jack opens his mouth for Pitch, letting him slide his tongue in. By the time he pulls back they are both breathless. 

Jack laughs softly, still held tightly in Pitch’s arms. "Well, that’s one way to relax before a difficult conversation.”

Pitch smiles at him and kisses him again. "I could make you even more relaxed – but that will have to wait until we return to the palace. Let’s get this over with.”

Only a little further and then they stand in front of a large wooden door. There are no bars - this is the living area of the garrison.

"Are you ready?"

Jack takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before nodding.

Pitch unlocks the door and then touches its surface. It flashes black with some sort of shadow magic; a magical lock, Jack thinks.

Pitch steps inside first, shielding Jack. A glance around shows Jack a living room, sparse but comfortable enough. His siblings sit upon wooden benches either side of a table. On its surface is a stack of books, and a half-finished lunch of fresh bread and cheese. Beyond through open doors he can see a bedroom and even a small bathroom. It is a luxury suite compared to his accommodations under Ben’s hospitality.

"Finally," North roars, striding forward to Pitch with fury in his eyes, but then he spies Jack and his eyes widen. "Jack," he whispers and steps forward again, but Pitch doesn't move from his protective stance. "Let me see him! He is my brother, who has been missing for near a month! I was worried sick."

"Worried?" Jack steps from behind Pitch, a sudden rush of anger giving him courage. He thrusts his staff at North. "You've only just been worried this last month? What about the four before that, when you thought I was a sex slave? You didn't worry about me then?"

"Of - of course I did. But-"

"Tell me, North. Did you have _any_ intention of rescuing me, or even seeing if I was alright? But then, you barely paid me any attention when I was in Lunanoff so why would I expect you to start now?"

North's face falls. "I have been a terrible brother. I know that. And - we should have done more to get you back. Or as you say, at least speak to you. We failed you."

"You did," Jack says coldly. "I think - I _know_ \- that our mother would be ashamed of the way you treated me.” North and Tooth both look like Jack has slapped them across the face. _Good,_ Jack thinks viciously. "You have an entire lifetime of neglect to answer for.”

"But we want to make it up to you," Tooth says as she approaches them. Her wings are still bound together by shadows, Jack notices. "We’ll do anything. And if you help us, we’ll have years to do that. Please, Jack. We don’t ask for your instant forgiveness. We’ll work for it. We love you, and we are sorry.”

Jack stares at them both and then sighs, the tension leaving him all at once, leaving him feeling a little empty. He is still angry, but what good does that do? He could rant and rage at them, but they need action. They need to come to an accord to save the people still trapped in Lunanoff, and to raise a bigger army to fight Ben, if it comes to that - though Jack very much shares Pitch's opinion that it will.

"We can fight later," he says. "Time is running out for the people still in Lunanoff."

"Yes, it is,” North says. "And since King Pitch has kept us captive-"

"You would say that in front of me?” Jack snaps, his anger aflame once more. "You have a whole suite of comfortable rooms, food aplenty. Not a tiny cell, not the threat of torture every moment. Never mind _actual_ torture. Not knowing who you can trust, if anyone, knowing that if you don't get out soon, you're going to die - that you might die anyway, because someone you thought of as part of your family has had a spell carved into your skin? Knowing you might never see the people you love ever again, never get to say goodbye?" Jack's voice has been steadily rising and he's shaking, fear and anger spiking with each point.

Pitch puts a comforting hand to Jack's lower back, and it helps settle Jack's aching heart a little. North and Tooth just look at him with wide eyes.

"Pitch kept you here - that is true." Jack's voice shakes as he speaks, _he_ is shaking. "And now we are going to discuss the possibility of letting you go. But only if you act like adults and try to think of something other than yourselves for once."

North nods. "You are right, Jack. When did you get so wise?"

Jack gives the two of them a baleful look. "It certainly wasn’t through any of your help. And this isn’t wise. Merely necessary."

Pitch gestures at the table. "Well then. Shall we talk?"

The four of them sit, North and Tooth on the opposite side to Pitch and Jack. Jack shuffles closer to Pitch and takes his hand, needing the comfort. Perhaps it's not the most appropriate thing for a political discussion, but Jack is very happy that Pitch does not push him away. Seeing his siblings and feeling the anger and hurt they rouse in him has left him feeling vulnerable and raw.

"I am aware that the situation in Lunanoff is deteriorating," Pitch says. "And that if something is not done, a lot of people are going to die."

"Yes," North begins forcefully, and Tooth puts a hand gently on his arm.

"North, let him speak."

North's jaw is tense, but he stays quiet.

"I am also aware that you promised to stand by Umbra's side against Benard, if it comes to war."

"Those of us who can fight," Tooth says quickly, before North can speak again. "He is our enemy as much as - more than - yours. But we would need somewhere to live - aid to heal our wounded, food and drink and shelter."

"Then perhaps I have a solution that might benefit all of us. Umbran land on the borders with Selena remains tainted. It retreats a little every year, but only a very little, and few people choose to live within miles of the border. We would offer you a parcel of this land, and in return you would put your mages to work in cleansing the taint. If you are able to, eventually you would be able to make your way into Selena itself, and reclaim your ancestral homeland - and Umbra would be able to reclaim its own lost lands."

Neither Tooth nor North have ever been good at hiding their emotions. Both of them stare at Pitch with wide eyes.

Tooth gets over her surprise quickly. "What if we can't cleanse the tainted land?"

"Then you may stay on the Umbran land near the border and remain my subjects, keeping to Umbran laws. You will fight for me against Benard, though after that those who do not wish to fight may choose to pursue other careers. Farmer might be a good one - I expect you to be self-sustaining as soon as possible. We should be able to provide you with enough food to sustain you through winter as long as you are careful, but you're on your own after that. Since you have managed on the moon, I assume you will be able to manage land that is a little barren."

"I think so," Tooth says, tapping her finger on the table. "What do you think, North?"

North is silent for a long moment and then he nods.

"I am surprised by the generosity of your offer, Pitch."

" _King_ Pitch. And I believe we can help each other. We have been enemies for many centuries, but perhaps we can end that."

"Perhaps. We will need to speak to our people before we can make any decisions."

Pitch withdraws something from his pocket and tosses it to North. When he catches it, Jack sees that it is the device North brought with him, that communicates with Lunanoff.

"You will go today, and I want your reply in twenty-four hours.”

"You will have it. Depending on how much damage there is to the dome, time may be running out.”

"Your sister will stay, as insurance. I want your reply in twenty four hours.”

"You will have it,” North says, looking at the device and up at Jack. "What Tooth said - about making it up to you. We will do this. It will take much time, I am sure - but we will win your forgiveness.”

"You’re welcome to try,” Jack says, sick of fighting. "But let’s get this done first. So speak to Bunny, see what he says.”

"Jamie as much as Bunny,” North says. "Your friend is both wise and brave. Without him, I am not sure any of us would have survived.”

"Then I look forward to hearing about it from him,” Jack says, not even needing to look up at Pitch to know that there is jealousy in his eyes. Well, if the Lunanovans are going to come to Umbra, that is something that Pitch is going to have to get used to. 

_And I’m going to have to get used to what he and Aleksis were to one another._ This new understanding of Pitch’s jealousy doesn’t help. Well, it is something they will have to work through together. 

Pitch calls for the guards to escort North to the silver bridge. When they arrive, he summons shadow guards as well, and they flank North as he is marched out of the room. 

"Come, Jack,” Pitch says from the doorway, but Tooth touches Jack’s arm. Jack jerks his arm away, but she is persistent. She takes one of his hands in her small ones and doesn’t flinch when he glares at her. 

"I really am so sorry, Jack. About everything.” 

"I’m sure you are,” Jack says, suddenly feeling too exhausted to deal with this. "Let’s just get everyone safe. Defeat Ben. After that… We’ll see.” He turns to go to Pitch, and Tooth calls after him. 

"You were right, you know. Our mother would be ashamed of us. But she would be proud of you. There’s a lot to be proud of.”

Jack glances at her, and is glad when the door shuts behind him.  He’s spent so much of his life feeling the weight of her death on his shoulders. His heart feels lighter at the thought that his mother might be proud of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super tired so just a brief note tonight, but let me just say thank you so so much to all of you and for the support you give me. You're amazing :) (Especially my [incredible beta](http://impextoo.tumblr.com)!)


	24. Chapter 24

It’s been another strange morning. Naively, Jack had expected that after he returned to the palace, everything would be as it was; that he could settle back into his life and heal. Instead he’s found intrigue and danger everywhere; he feels like he is on the edge of a cliff, waiting to be pushed off. The knowledge of being able to control his magic helps hold the anxiety at bay, but the amount of exhaustion he felt after showing off for Jethryn makes him wary. He needs to get stronger. If anything does happen, he’ll need a lot more than just parlour tricks to protect himself and the people he loves.

He's on his way back to Pitch's rooms after a lesson with Jethryn. It was a shock to see how ill his teacher looked. The chief mage can't be much older than Pitch, yet just in these few days he seemed to have aged decades. His normally dark skin was pale and papery, his hair not in the usual well- defined curls but pulled back into a limp ponytail. Expending so much of his energy on checking for Ben’s sigils has been a great effort for him. Though barely even a quarter of those in the palace have been checked, he has to rest. Jack fears for the welfare of his teacher, but he fears for his own safety, too. Whoever the spy is, there's a high likelihood they have not yet been seen by Jethryn. It's possible too that they've heard of the nature of these checks and escaped already. These thoughts have been looping in his head for the past few days, as familiar as the frustration and fear that whisper in the back of his mind like restless ghosts. 

And then there is the annoyance of being accompanied by guards everywhere he goes. It means he always has someone with him, but they rarely speak to him or acknowledge him. It just makes him lonely, even more than when he’s actually alone. Their professional silence just makes him think of how different things were with Kal, and a swell of grief chokes him. He remembers the smoothness of Kal’s voice, the flash of his smile. The warmth of his friendship and the empty ache of missing him. 

“Courtesan? Are you alright?” That’s Worric, the guard who tried to protect him when Kal- Jack cuts the thought off. He can’t bear it. But Worric was Kal’s friend, or at least his colleague. Would speaking to him make Jack feel better? Or would it only hurt Worric, too?

“I’ll be alright,” Jack says softly, deciding he’ll keep the pain to himself.

When they get back to the rooms, Jack is glad to go into the quiet sanctuary of Pitch’s chambers, even if Pitch isn’t there. He’s meeting with North at the silver bridge, awaiting his answer of whether or not the Lunanovans will come to Umbra. Not that there’s much doubt; what else can they do? Jack’s feelings simmer whenever he thinks about the Lunanovans; anger and bitter betrayal, still potent even after these long months, even after everything else that has happened since. 

When Jack steps into the reception room, Seraphina is there, looking out of the window. She's alone other than Ivor who is looking carefully focused as he dusts the bookcases. Obviously he is watching over Seraphina while giving her as much independence as possible. It is well done; perhaps Pitch has learned from being so overbearing with Jack.

There is a small animal on Seraphina's lap. It lifts its head as Jack approaches. A cat, he thinks curiously. He’s only ever seen them in pictures before. Its fur is mostly tawny, with round black markings and smudges of white around its eyes and on its underside. It looks up at Jack with golden eyes that make him think of Pitch. The cat moves to sit more alertly, and Seraphina stirs to see what has disturbed it. When she faces Jack, he's concerned to see that her cheeks are tear-stained, her eyes red-rimmed.

He sits beside her, touches her shoulder gently.

"Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head and strokes the cat's fur. It settles on her lap again, still looking at Jack, though he isn’t sure if it’s wary or just curious.

"Not hurt. But - Papa mentioned this morning that he would have to make Mama's - her - her death official. A ceremony and-" She puts a hand to her mouth and squeezes her eyes shut against the traitorous tears that escape and spill down her cheeks.

"It's – it's okay. I mean-" Jack bites down on his clumsy words and gives up on them, putting his arm over her shoulders. She leans in against his chest and weeps with quiet sobs that leave his shirt soaking and his heart aching. He casts about for something else to do, some other way of comforting her and finds nothing. Feeling useless, he holds her a little tighter. 

"It's not just that," she says when she can speak again. She wipes her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "Onyx gave me her treecat to look after while she is in the North. His name is Jasper. She thought having him here would make me feel better, and he does. But - but before I was taken, she had another cat, Babou. Onyx said that he died while I was away. I loved him. And now he’s gone." Her voice is desolate and lonely as an iceberg in an ocean. Jack wishes he knew what to tell her, how to drive her pain and her fears away.

"I'm sorry, Seraphina. So much must have changed."

She nods. "I asked if my friend could come and see me. The guards muttered over it, thinking Papa should be told, but then they said that he's a squire now - as long as he stayed at a distance he could come up. And when he did - he's old, Jack! He's a teenager now. And I'm just a little girl. He's changed and I've stayed the same, everything has changed and I - I don't know what to do. I don’t know where I fit in anymore."

He takes her hands and squeezes them gently. “You fit in with your father. And Onyx and Amber. I know we’ve only just met, but you have me, too.”

“I know,” she says and sniffles as she takes his hand. “And I’m happy you’re here, Jack. It’s just - Papa told me that I'd been gone a long time. Oh, but hearing it - that's one thing. Seeing it is another." She sniffles and wipes at her eyes, hugging Jasper to her. "I wish Onyx hadn't gone. I wish things would stop changing."

"Me too," Jack says. "But things are bad right now. There are threats to your father, to Umbra, to my family. I wish things were the way they were when I was happy. But since they’re not, I’m going to work to set things right."

She nods solemnly and then gestures at Jasper. "You can stroke him if you want. He likes being stroked."

Jack looks at the cat dubiously; it looks right back, unblinking. Having never even seen a cat before, never mind touched one, Jack isn’t sure what to do. He lifts his hand uncertainly. Jasper sniffs Jack’s hand; when he doesn't move to bite or scratch, Jack gently strokes his back. His fur is so soft and smooth, a delight to touch. But then he begins to make a low, rumbling noise, and Jack yanks the hand away. 

“Is - is he angry?”

“No, he’s only purring. It means he likes you." Seraphina takes Jack’s hand and returns it to Jasper’s back. The purring begins again, vibrations that Jack can feel under his fingers. Jack smiles at her and then the cat, at their little bubble of happiness.

"I think I like him too." Almost as though the cat could hear him, he bounces into Jack's lap. Jack looks down at him, not sure what to do, but Jasper only looks up at him for a moment before slinking to the floor, seemingly bored of him. Winding sinuously between the chair legs, he curls up beneath the table and closes his eyes. Well, Jack thinks, at least Jasper is carefree. 

When Jack looks back up at Seraphina, he sees that she is solemn once more, her eyes distant.

“When Papa said about a memorial for Mama, he said that the priests in every city will hold a vigil for her. That she was well loved and that people miss her. But _I_ miss her! I want her here!” She looks almost angry, and turns her face away from Jack to glare out of the window.

“I wish there was something I could do,” Jack says truthfully. “I know only a little of what you feel. I miss my own mother, but I never knew her. My brothers and sister tell me how wonderful she was, but that is all I have to go on.”

“At least I knew Mama,” Seraphina sniffs, and burrows into Jack's arms again. 

“Do you want to talk about her? Your papa told me a few things, but I don't think he likes to talk about her much.”

“It hurts him to talk about her,” she says, her voice muffled by Jack's robe. “It hurts me, too. It makes me think she's going to come in the room, like she's not really gone at all. But she is.”

“I'm sorry, I wish I was better at this.”

“No,” she says, and lifts her head to give him a watery smile. “I'm glad you're here, Jack. You make me feel better. And you were right before, I do belong. With you and Papa. My family.”

Jack can’t speak around the sudden tightness in his throat, so he smiles instead. 

She plays with a lock of hair that's come loose from her braid. “Can we go out into the gardens later? I want to build a snowman.”

“A snowman?” Jack touches the window and lets frost spill onto it. He draws a rough figure of a man in the frost and then without even consciously thinking about what he’s doing, pulls the image of the man off the windowpane, a tiny figure who dances a jig before exploding in a puff of snowflakes. Jack blinks, startled at his own ability. Seraphina laughs, delighted, and behind her, Jack notices Ivor grin too. 

“That’s amazing, Jack!”

“Thank you, my lady,” he says and gives her an exaggerated bow. “But I take it that isn’t what you meant by snowman. How do you make one?”

“Wait - you’ve never made one?” When he shakes his head she stares at him, open-mouthed. “But you're an ice mage!”

“An ice mage who had barely seen ice before he came to Umbra, never mind snow. Why don't you show me how it's done?”

“I will,” she says, and then grins. “I make a _good_ snowman. Maybe not as good as yours, though.”

“Ah, but as you said, I’m an ice mage, so that’s kind of cheating.”

When Pitch returns, he agrees to accompany them outside, along with a contingent of guards. Jack sighs at the constant surveillance. He wants time just with the three of them. He wants the safety and peace that they had in Santoff Claussen, or here in Umbra, before... Before everything happened. He sighs. Wishing and daydreaming is fine for Seraphina; she’s only a child. He needs to take action. 

Even with these heavy thoughts, as soon as they step outside his spirits lift instantly. The wind comes to greet him, dancing around him and lifting him off his feet. He laughs lightly, shoving playfully at it with his magic. However much he wants to let it carry him into the air, the fear on Pitch's face is enough to sober him. _Later,_ he says, remembering he said the same in Santoff Claussen. Is this what it means to be a grown up? To keep putting off fun? No, he decides. He doesn’t want that. He needs to find a balance, between seriousness and fun, between keeping in mind the wishes of others and his own desires. 

Deciding on a compromise, he stops outside the doorway and takes off his boots. Pitch's mouth opens to rebuke him, but instead he sighs and shakes his head. His acceptance pleases Jack, and he puts them inside the doorway before stepping out into the snow with a contented sigh. The cold under his feet settles him almost as well as being bound in Pitch’s shadow ropes. The thought makes him grin at Pitch, who looks back at him questioningly. 

“You're sure you'll be alright? Gods know the last thing I want is for you to get ill.”

“I'm more likely to get ill from being too warm than too cold,” Jack reassures him, and takes his hand. Seraphina takes the other.

“This way,” Seraphina says. She leads the way, and they follow alongside the palace walls. Some of the snow has been cleared here, so Jack steps to the side, wishing to walk on the snow. They go behind the palace, away from the places he and Kal spent most of their time. When they leave the palace behind they head across an untouched blanket of snow. Jack sees they are heading towards a walled enclosure, somewhere he’s never been before. He pictures the map that Onyx and Amber gave to him, tries to figure out where they’re going. He explored most of the grounds with Kal, why wouldn’t he come here?

Pitch's steps slow as they approach, and then stop. He looks at the tall walls pensively. Snow is banked up high against them, and over their tops like a fur shawl. There's an iron gate with curlicues and beyond Jack sees a small house.

“Seraphina,” Pitch says, his voice tight.

“I want to go in Mama's gardens,” Seraphina says with a stubborn tremble in her voice, and that’s when Jack realises: this is the Queen's Cottage. He never came here, because he was sure that Pitch would never want him to see it, and because he didn’t want to stir his own jealousy. But this isn't about him, or even Pitch. This is about Seraphina, and how much she misses her mother.

“Alright,” Pitch says, and Jack can hear the strain in his voice. Jack squeezes his hand, a show of silent support, and Pitch’s grateful smile warms his heart. Two guards stay outside to guard the gate; another two precede them and check the gardens before declaring it safe. 

Finally they step inside. There’s a wide open space in front of the cottage. A flat, snow-covered expanse, winter rendering it featureless. To the left is an archway; beyond, Jack sees stone benches arranged around a frozen pond. A tree reaches its bare branches across the ice, and in summer they must provide a pleasant shade. Jack tries not to think of Pitch and Karine enjoying the space and each others’ company, and jerks his gaze away. 

The cottage itself is in perfect condition. Though the window ledges and terrace are heavy with snow, the place has obviously been looked after. Inside he can see that the curtains have been drawn, as though the occupant might still be inside. 

It is a silent place. Not just because of the snow; it feels like this place is waiting. Watching. Jack doesn't like it. A glance at Pitch shows that he too is uneasy here, though no doubt for very different reasons. For him, Jack guesses, this place is haunted. Too many memories.

Seraphina doesn't seem to feel the weight of those ghosts, for she smiles up at both of them.

“Help me build a snowman, Papa,” she says, and starts to gather snow in her mittened hands. “Let's show Jack how it's done.”

At first Jack thinks she is making a snowball, but then she puts it to the ground and rolls it. More snow sticks to it as she goes, building it bigger and bigger until it's as high as her knee. Pitch stoops to help, copying her movements.

Jack watches, feeling out of place but curious as well. Both of them make giant snowballs to match the first; when they are stacked on top Jack sees there is a small difference in size. Seraphina's goes last, and Pitch has to help her place it; together the snowballs are taller than she is.

“There,” she says, beaming at Jack. “A snowman.”

Jack cocks his head as he looks at it doubtfully. Seraphina tuts at him.

“Obviously it isn't finished yet,” she says. “He needs a face. Arms. And a hat and a scarf.”

A woollen scarf has been smothering him since they left the palace, so Jack is happy to offer it up to the snowman. With her father's help Seraphina finds a few handfuls of stones beneath the snow. They form eyes and nose and a smiling mouth, and dull grey buttons for an imaginary doublet. Two twigs make crooked arms.

“He needs a hat, though,” Seraphina says, looking around as if she might see one discarded in the snow. “Jack! Can you make one?”

“Of course,” Jack says, and with a sweep of his hand he pulls the ice crystals in the air together to create a dashing top hat. Once more he just knew how to do it. He didn’t even have to sift through Isa’s knowledge; he just knew how to do it. Musing whether the memories are settling in with his own or whether he is just getting better at selecting them subconsciously, Jack places the hat on the snowman’s head. Seraphina claps, delighted. 

“You’re amazing, Jack!”

He bows to her and grins. “Anything for you, Seraphina.”

“ _Now_ he's finished,” she says. “What do you think?”

“I think he's a very fine snowman,” Jack says. “We did a good job.”

“As if there was ever any doubt,” huffs Pitch, and Jack grins at him.

“I think it was more Seraphina's hard work than yours that made it good.”

“Perhaps,” Pitch allows. “But-” He breaks off mid-sentence and his gaze snaps to the gate. At first Jack isn’t sure what has caught his attention, but then he hears it: hooves, muffled by snow. Fear clutches Jack like a clawed hand and shards of memory skewer him: men in Lunanovan armour circling him and smirking, a knife cutting into his cheek, a sword dripping red with a friend’s blood. 

_Fly away, escape!_ Jack’s fear screams at him, but he grabs Pitch’s arm. 

“Take Seraphina through the shadows,” he says, his voice taut. 

“Jack-”

“I can ride the winds. We have to get out of here, now!”

“ _Jack_ ,” Pitch says, taking his hands. “Listen! Can you hear the guards shouting a warning? They can see who it is.”

“They might be traitors. Maybe they’re spies, maybe there’s more than one.”

“You’re scaring Seraphina,” Pitch says sharply, but there’s concern in his eyes. “If anything happens, we will deal with it, you and I. We’re two of the most powerful mages in the world, Jack. We can protect ourselves.”

Pitch’s words, and the soothing tone that goes with them, dull the edges of Jack’s panic. He nods, slowly at first, but then more certainly. Pitch is right. If this is an enemy, they will fight and they will win. Jack silently vows to protect the two of them and allow them to escape through the shadows, should anything happen. 

Outside, the horse has stopped and Jack can hear the guards speak. 

“Lady Onyx-”

“I need to speak to the king. Now.” She pushes through the gate and strides up to them, bowing deeply to Pitch. When she straightens Jack sees that she is pale and her eyes are red as though she's been crying. Instantly Jack is afraid.

“You only went north a day ago,” Pitch says, stepping towards her. “Has something happened?”

“Yes,” she says, and offers him a scroll with a shaking hand. 

Breaking the seal, he reads it, eyes growing wide as they pass over the words. His lips part and he looks up at Onyx in horror.“Can this be true?”

“It is true, all of it. My father is such a fool.” Her voice breaks and she takes in a ragged breath. She blinks rapidly and wipes at her eyes. “The rumours of rebellion are true. And my father is their leader.”

The scroll crumples in Pitch's hand, fist closed so tightly that his knuckles are white. He doesn't say anything for a long time. As they stand there in nervous silence, Seraphina clings to Jack’s forearm and looks at them both with wide eyes. Jack doesn't know what to think. Or rather, he doesn't want to think. Tarr seemed so warm and kind – but then so did Ben.

Onyx drops to one knee in the snow and bows her head. “Your highness, please don’t think that I follow my father’s lead. My loyalty is only to you, and Umbra. His actions are his alone-”

“Onyx, stop.” Pitch’s voice is strained. “Get up. I don’t doubt you. Just- Tell me what happened.”

“It is a failed rebellion,” she says, standing. Her stance is too carefully still, and Jack can only guess at the maelstrom of emotion raging inside her. “Only two hundred people sided with him, and when no others joined him, they ran to the far north. But Pitch – he has lit a match, and the spark could start a wildfire. Mostly he implored the Selenans to join him. Just as Aleksis said. And while few joined them, all of them are angry. You know their quarrels - the same as they have ever been. They are distrusted and ill treated, yet no king since Obsidian has ever done much about it. We have grown complacent and they have grown angry. It is time to act, Pitch.”

“Indeed? And what would you have me do?”

“There is a group of Selenans in Norkyle who have asked to speak to you urgently. Within the week. They have said they're willing to come to Dun Doras.”

Pitch rubs his temples as if he has a growing headache.

“And you, Jack,” Onyx says. “They want to talk to you as well.”

Jack stares at her, and then manages a nod.

===

Three days later, a sleigh speeds north to Dun Doras, five people within.

Onyx and Alden sit on one side; Jack and Pitch on the other, with North beside them. After much discussion – and arguing - it was decided that having a Lunanovan representative by Pitch's side might impress upon the Selenans the importance of a peace between their peoples. The Lunanovan king is missing - gone with Ben or amongst the dead, no-one seems sure. Jack doesn’t know how he feels about either option and doesn’t have the time or energy to waste on wondering, and so he pushes the thoughts away to deal with later. As the crown prince, North will take his place before the Selenans and tell them of the agreement with Pitch, and to offer them a place in the Selena he and the Lunanovans will create.

Given his role as representative of the Selenan royal family, North has been stuffed into a fussy outfit typical of Lunanoff: a tunic embroidered with swirling leaves is embellished with garish beads and gems; his breeches are tight and stiff, and the golden buckles on his boots jangle with every movement. Frills and lace decorate his sleeves and collar, He looks deeply uncomfortable, and Jack doesn't bother to hide his amusement.

His own outfit has been carefully chosen to balance his connections between Umbra and Lunanoff. Upon his brow is a simple silver band with a crescent moon resting in the centre of his forehead. His robe is cut in the style that Pitch wears, rich royal blue and delicately embroidered with silver thread in a pattern based on Lunanovan designs. It’s another of Amber’s masterpieces, and a thousand times nicer than North’s ostentatious costume. 

And Pitch - Pitch looks kingly in a fur-lined black cloak, with a long robe of heavy black brocade beneath. Upon his brow he wears a smaller version of his crown, less formal but still an obvious symbol of his status. It kindles desire in Jack; once more his terrible timing comes to a head and Jack forces himself to look away.

As they travel, Jack tries to listen in to the conversation between Pitch, Onyx and Alden, but his thoughts keep drifting on a sea of questions. Why would Tarr do this? He’s not even of Selenan ancestry. Is it just that he saw an opportunity to claim power and grabbed it? But _why_? And why now? Pitch pointed out that the timing is suspicious. It takes their focus away from Ben and his machinations. Jack saw the suggestion there, but he can't believe it. Can Tarr _truly_ be in league with Ben? It’s one thing to imagine Tarr as a power-hungry rebel, another entirely to think of him in league with Ben – of Ben having that much power here in Umbra. It makes fear claw at him, but he pushes it away. He has to make sure that the Selenans see that he is happy and content by Pitch’s side. 

“It seems we have enemies on all fronts,” North says quietly, and Jack glances up at him. He’s been listening in to the conversation but not taking part in it.

“Things seemed so simple in Lunanoff, didn’t they?”

“Indeed they did.” North sighs. “For many years I have been glad that our father did not want me to take the throne, and now I wish I had. So much grief could have been avoided.”

“What makes you think you would see through Ben’s lies. No-one else did.”

“Very true.” He forces both a smile and a shift in the conversation. Glancing out at the deep snow, he gestures at it. “I still cannot believe this! Weather! Snow on the ground, wind in the air. I am not happy as to the reason I am seeing it, but I am so glad I saw it, at least once. Although I can barely believe it.”

“I can still barely believe it and I can control it,” Jack says, forming a snowflake from the icy air of the sleigh. North watches, fascinated, and Jack throws it at him.

North laughs and catches it in his hand, As it melts, though, so does his humour. When he looks up, his eyes are solemn. “I am so sorry Jack. Your magic should never have been bound. When Ben said that your magic was dangerous, he was so convincing! And I thought I was doing the right thing in making that binding bracelet, so that you couldn’t harm yourself or anyone else.”

“You weren’t,” Jack says shortly. “I’m your brother, North. You were supposed to _protect_ me from things like that.”

“I thought I _was_ protecting you,” North says, and shakes his head. His expression is pinched. “I am a fool. I have long been a fool.”

“Try not to be now,” Jack suggests, and turns his attention to Pitch and the others. Perhaps its cruel to dismiss North so, but Jack can’t deny that it feels good to be the one doing the ignoring for once. It is so hard to talk to North without getting angry. And it is his _right_ to be angry, so many wrongs were done to him – but what does it help? If only they had a little time, Jack could think about things properly so that they could talk and maybe fix things between them. Or perhaps it’s better that they don’t have the time, Jack thinks bleakly; it means less arguments.

“We need to resolve this as quickly as possible,” Pitch is saying. “Letting matters linger will only make things worse.”

“I agree,” Alden says. “You need to remind them that they are Umbrans and that you are their king. But it needs to be done delicately. You need to make sure they know that you care about their heritage and their culture. It might be good for North to tell them of his plans for Selena – and for you to say that you are happy for them to join him.”

“I wouldn’t say _happy_ is the right word. The Selenans are an important part of our country. Not least because of their magic that keeps our fields fertile, that power our travel circles.”

“Then you should tell them how much you value them,” Alden says, and sighs. “This is a difficult situation without a doubt, but they _are_ important to us. We need to make that clear.”

“Who is going to be there? Is there anyone I’ve met before?” Pitch asks, and as Onyx starts listing names and towns, Jack's attention wanes.

North catches his eye. “After our encampment is set up, you must come to visit. Bunny and Jamie will want to see you. We all will.”

“I'd like to see Jamie.” 

North pauses for a heartbeat, pain in his eyes; he didn’t miss Jack’s blunt exclusion of his family. He quickly plows on. "While we were held captive, we missed your birthday. We could do a little something for that."

Jack's lips thin. "I told you my thoughts on flaunting your 'captivity'. And as for my birthday, we have never celebrated it before."

"Another way in which we have done you wrong," North says, but Pitch breaks away from his discussions with Alden and Onyx to take Jack's hand.

"I missed your birthday?” He sounds truly upset. “You should have told me. When is it?"

"On Midwinter’s Eve," Jack says, feeling a little embarrassed and guilty over how distraught Pitch looks over such a silly thing. "But as I said, I've never really celebrated it."

“Are birthdays not important events in Lunanoff?”

Jack shrugs, wishing North had never mentioned it. After years of ignoring his birthday, what a time to start thinking of it. “For most people. But my birthday… My mother died the day I was born. So no-one ever felt much like celebrating.”

Pitch frowns, and then looks at North. “But surely something - even a small celebration. A gift, or a gathering?”

“Tooth gave me gifts a few times. And after I met Jamie, we’d spend the day together, usually just the two of us.”

Pitch’s lips thin. “Only him? Only Jamie?”

“Sometimes his other friends too. But my father declared it a day of mourning, so…”

“And you never spoke up?” Pitch asks, glaring at North. “You never thought that your little brother might be hurt by that?” 

“She was my mother,” North says gruffly, and Jack can feel the tension curling in the air like steam. This can’t happen now. They need to look united for this meeting, and Jack won’t let such a silly thing get in the way.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says quickly. “It’s not important.”

"It _is_ important." Pitch says firmly. "Even with everything else that is happening, your birthday is a precious thing - all the more so because you haven't recognised it before."

Jack feels his cheeks heat, knowing that everyone is listening into their conversation for all that they feign looking out upon the landscape.

"There are more important things to think of than my birthday," Jack says.

"There is little in this world that is more important to me than you are," Pitch says, and holds his hands a little more tightly. "We shall celebrate your birthday, even if it is only the two of us in private."

Nothing in Pitch's tone suggests that he means something sexual but Jack suddenly remembers Ben’s words about everyone in the palace knowing of their private matters. “We’ll talk about it later,” he says, pulling his hands away and settling them in his lap. Bad enough if the people in the palace want talk about it; he doesn’t want to be the subject of gossip amongst the Lunanovans as well. He feels Pitch’s eyes on him for a moment, and there’s a light, supportive touch to his shoulder. 

“Alright, Jack,” Pitch says softly and returns to his discussions. 

North doesn’t try to engage him again, and suddenly Jack feels very alone like Ben is is pushing him away from the people that love him. But then that’s been happening all his life, hasn’t it? Jack glances down at Pitch’s hand, resting on the bench between them, and takes it. He refuses to let Ben win. When Pitch’s fingers twine with his, it eases the knot in his throat. 

When they reach Dun Doras, only Aleksis is there to greet them. This meeting is not secret, but nor do they want to advertise it to all and sundry. Tension is amongst all of them, and it rises as they step inside the travelling hall.

In the entranceway, Aleksis turns to them.

“I thought that a traditional setup would be best,” he says to Pitch. “Yourself highest, upon a grand chair, with Jack at your feet-”

“No,” Pitch says. “Jack will not be at my feet. It was a mistake to ever subjugate him.” Jack looks up at Pitch, too amazed to speak. A courtesan's place is at his king's feet. “Especially not before these folk. Jack should be beside me.” He glances at North and his lips thin. “Prince North too, I suppose. On a lesser chair, of course. Onyx a little lower, but in a grander chair – as lady of the north, she is one of them. And Alden by her side.”

“As you wish, Pitch,” Aleksis says, and gestures for one of his companions to make the changes.

“What can I expect of these people, Aleksis?”

Aleksis gives a grin with little humour. “Think of any type of person, and they are in the hall. Like a gathering of cats, they fight as much as they agree. In asking you here so quickly they haven't given themselves enough time to gather their best. I wonder if they've even agreed amongst themselves what they want from you.”

“Let us hope so, or this may be wasting all of our time.”

When the doors to the hall open, a cacophony of noise escapes. Aleksis enters first and roars for silence. He gets not only startled silence but a chorus of glares.

Pitch and his companions are introduced formally before heading up to a dais at the front of the room. As Aleksis said, there is every type of person here. About twenty of them, of every age. Some wear furs and leather as Tarr did; others are dressed more like the Lunanovans, in heavy fabrics fussily decorated with flowers or mythological creatures. One wears a soldier’s uniform and has a number of medals pinned to his chest; another is dressed in a flowing white dress with a fussy silver necklace adorned with moons. Rather than a united people they seem like a ragtag gathering of random folk. 

As Jack walks among the long tables, he wonders if he's only imagining that they pay a special interest in him. They are staring, true, but their king is amongst them, and Onyx must be known to them. North too as the crown prince of Lunanoff must be of interest, and Jack chides himself; surely he’s not their focus. But then he hears the whispers:

"He looks just like the moon god!”

"He looks like the statue in the temple brought to life." 

Pitch doesn't miss a step and neither does Jack, purposefully following in his shadow. Still he feels all eyes on him as he follows Pitch up to the dais. The grand central chair is the king's, of course, and Jack is directed to Pitch's right side. With a gesture, Pitch indicates for North to take the chair on the left. Onyx below, Alden by her side. All this ceremony, all this importance in chairs, Jack thinks dimly.

"Your highness," says one man, wearing a richly-embroidered cream robe. He approaches and then stops a few feet away, giving a solemn bow. Tall and willowy, He's about Pitch's age, and his hair is as pale a yellow as the winter sun, his eyes green as pine needles. They flick to Jack and linger for a moment before returning to Pitch. "Thank you for coming at such short notice. We’re honoured by your presence."

Pitch's lips thin and Jack can almost guess his thoughts: _It's not like I had a choice._

Instead he says, "Considering the situation, I thought it best."

"I am Yarrow," the blond man says. "I live in Axebury. I'm a councilman there-”

“One of the few!” A man cries out, getting to his feet. “For all our importance, how many of us hold important positions-”

Yarrow turns to glare at him. “Please sit, Samson. You asked me to lead this discussion, so let me speak.” He turns once more to Pitch. “Apologies, your highness. All of us here are leaders in our communities, though not all of us have formal experience as I do." Names are given and hometowns too. Without the benefit of a map Jack has no idea where any of them are from. Aleksis is there too, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He gazes at the others with a thundercloud frown that does nothing to mar his handsomeness. Jealousy tickles at Jack and he looks away.

“And I am Aleksis of Dun Doras,” he says. “I hope my voice will be heard here as well.”

“Of course,” Yarrow says smoothly, but a woman at the back of the room cries out,

“What does this southerner know about our troubles?”

“I thought you were here to speak for the Selenan communities,” Aleksis says. “Or do only northerners matter to you?”

“All Selenans matter,” Yarrow says quickly, before the woman can speak up again. “Of course you are welcome to join the discussion.”

There’s another murmur of dissent, but no-one speaks up. 

Pitch looks out on those gathered and sits a little straighter.

"This is a time of great changes, especially for you Umbrans born of Selenan ancestry. Tarr has betrayed me; siding with him are some of your people. Yet you are here and still loyal. You have my gratitude and my loyalty in return."

"We are Umbran," Yarrow says. "Whatever other ties bind us, we are Umbran. And Tarr - he has no Selenan blood, what right does he have to speak for us, to prod us to revolt? No. But it has reminded us of years of ill treatment, and we want action, your highness."

"What would you have me do?"

"As Samson said, my status as councilman is rare for Selenans. Those who were on Lord Tarr's council were there because their families are rich, or their fathers had power and so they've inherited it. They know little of our real needs."

"So you want people to sit on councils?"

“We want our own councils!” A man in heavy brocade stands up and slams his fist on the table. “With real power!”

“Oh, aye, as if you’d know what to do with that power,” the woman sitting by his side says, rolling her eyes. “Besides, we’re Umbran. We live side by side with the lowborns and highborns and folk from all over the place. We’re part of them, why try to separate ourselves?” She stands and looks slowly over all of those gathered. Her eyes light on Pitch, and she bows to him. “I am Linnet, your highness. From the far north. It’s said that Tarr escaped in the direction of our village, and I ask for your aid in seeking him out before he can drip poisonous words into my people’s ears. We have enough trouble with the mountain folk this time of year, we don’t need his nonsense as well.”

“I have already dispatched Captain Flint and his men to track them down. He has much experience in the far north, and I am confident he will locate them soon.”

Linnet nods. “I know Flint. If anyone can, he can. But your highness - word will reach them soon enough. And they’ll remember the taxes on oil, on firewood that has to be imported to us. Tarr set up a tax that is strangling us, and none of us, Selenan or otherwise, is happy about it.”

“Lady Onyx will look into it,” Pitch says, and Jack sees Onyx look over her shoulder, startled. 

“That daughter of a traitor?” Samson snarls, and the man beside him slaps his arm. 

“Lady Onyx has always done well by us, speaking to the king on our behalf. You shut your mouth.”

“How dare you,” Samson roars, but the man on his other side puts a restraining hand on his arm. It stops the brewing argument, but the anger still bubbles between them. There’ll be a fight tonight if not before, Jack’s sure of it. 

“I trust her,” Pitch says. “She’ll look into these taxes and we will do what we can to ease the burden. Of course, I can't agree to any of your terms today," he says. "I will listen, and speak to my councillors."

"Are you not a king?" An angry voice, belonging to a round woman with a red face. "What simpering king needs to speak to advisors?"

The people around her hush her with frightened whispers. Pitch lets the silence stretch out.

"A king who knows his opinion is not the only one that matters,” Alden points out. “The king’s councillors come from all over Umbra, representing every part of the country."

"No Selenans, though," says someone, and there’s a rumble of agreement. 

"I'm there," Jack says without meaning to, and immediately wishes he hadn't. The whole room turns to look at him and once more he hears _moon god_. "I mean – I know I'm not Selenan and Umbran, as you are.”

“You are of the Selenan royal family,” Yarrow says. “While we are Umbran, we respect you greatly.”

“And he looks like the moon god reborn!” cries a woman at the back of the hall, the woman in the white dress that Jack noticed as he walked in. He guesses she might be one of those he heard earlier. “It would be fitting for the avatar of the moon god to help us,” she adds with a dreamy smile. 

An old man near the front of the room scoffs at her between deep gulps of wine. “Moon god indeed. He’s as flesh and bone as I am.”

“What? Look at him!” Another man cries out. “He’s god-touched, there’s no denying that.” More voices cry out in agreement; another mutters that a god wouldn’t be scarred, and Jack lifts his hand to cover the scar on his cheek. Much as he doesn’t want to be called a god, it still hurts to have his imperfections pointed out so bluntly. People roar in Jack's defence, until it's clear that more than half of them agree with the assertion that he is _god-touched_ , whatever that might mean.

“Besides, you’re not even on the council,” Samson says, and Jack decides he dislikes him. “You’re just there as a pretty little trinket at the king’s side. Something pretty for him to look at during long meetings.”

People shout out to agree and disagree, and Jack keeps his mouth tightly shut before he says something most insulting about Samson. There’s a snarl of argument amongst the Selenans before Yarrow knocks on the table to get their attention. 

“In time, perhaps one of us will be a royal councillor, but it won’t happen straight away. Certainly, I don’t think any of us would vote you to be our representative, Samson.”

Laughter rings out, and Samson glares at all of them. No-one seems to like him much. 

“No,” Yarrow continues. “For now, the courtesan can be our representative. It’s true that he knows little of our troubles, but he gave his freedom to bring about peace between Lunanoff and Umbra. I think that’s a sure sign of his loyalty to those of Selenan ancestry.”

"Speaking of such, is no one going to speak up about the shame of a Selenan courtesan?" pipes up a voice from the far side of the room. He is quickly hushed, and since once more no one else says anything, it is down to Yarrow. He closes his eyes for a moment before not-quite-sighing and continuing.

"We know that a courtesan is a role of great respect," he says. "But a courtesan is still a slave. That has rankled many in our community, especially when you could have taken him as a consort."

"At that time I still believed by wife to be alive," Pitch says quietly. "And the treaty was written - courtesanship and all - by Benard, of Lunanoff."

Ben's name sends the Selenans into another uproar.

“Who does he think he is, stirring up trouble like that,” one of then asks darkly.

“New Selena indeed,” another mutters. Jack turns to Pitch to see him frowning.

“I wasn't aware that Benard's plans were common knowledge.”

“There are those amongst us who have been approached,” Yarrow says. “Usually by strangers. They tell of a glorious new Selena, led by a Lunanovan councillor. Yet most of us rejected the idea. If it was to be a new Selena, why were we not approached for our input?”

“He just wants the power!” hisses the drunken old man. “I know the type; I've seen plenty. He cares nothing for us.”

“I do,” North says, getting to his feet. “I am North, crown prince of Lunanoff. King Pitch has generously agreed to help my people, for the dome that allows us to live on Lunanoff is failing. Your king has offered us sanctuary, but we are hoping to cleanse and reclaim at least some small corner of Selena. If we are successful, you are all welcome – and your ideas on what Selena should be and what is needed are welcome as well.”

Another roar of talk, and Jack notices Pitch's hands gripping the armrests so tightly that it's a wonder they don't break. He reaches over to place his hand over Pitch's, and feels him relax slightly.

“Indeed, this is true,” Pitch says, loud enough to be heard over all the noise. “Selena and Umbra will be great allies. Those of Selenan heritage are free to return to their ancestral home; or they are free to remain in their homes in Umbra. We are here to speak of Umbra, so Yarrow, please continue. You mentioned representation. You are a councilman and you know that you must spend years to do a good job. But something can be done. Regular meetings with a Selenan representative of your choice. Before your local councils, or you may come to Dun Doras to be heard by me and my council. That way, your wishes will be heard without your needing to leave your current lives.”

More rumblings, leaning towards sounding approving this time.

“That is a starting point,” Yarrow says. “Now, Linnet spoke of taxes-”

“It’s more than just taxes,” says a portly man in an flamboyant tunic covered in gems that flash as he moves. He gets to his feet and strides over to stand by Yarrow’s side. “I am Obol. I’m a trader, an excellent one, yet people distrust me and my goods, simply because I am Selenan. Perhaps they think my magic conjures them out of the ether, only to disappear in the sun. Whatever it is, they look at me with disgust - why, I've even had a customer spit on me!" Obol adjusts his collar and shakes his head. "They try to haggle me down to less than cost price as though they are somehow doing me a favour."

"It's the same the other way around!" An old man's voice, and the speaker leans forward, slamming his papery hand on the table. "The shopkeepers in my town charge me twice what they goods are worth simply because I'm Selenan."

"The same has happened to me," a woman says, nodding her head.

And so it goes on; Obol goes on to talk about the the stereotypes and how it affects not only his business but all Selenan craftsman and traders. Everyone in the room seems to have a story to tell: being refused service in an inn, being ignored by their council; one even tells of having a rock thrown at her when visiting her sister. All of which are important things but there is so much to take in that it's impossible to give each tale the attention it deserves, especially when they talk over each other and shout each other down. Some things, like Jack's being a courtesan are mentioned repeatedly, but it's far too late to act on that. Some go even further back, speaking of injustices decades or even centuries ago. Every so often Yarrow will try to rein in his fellow Selenans, but it does little good.

Aleksis has been quiet all the while, but now he pushes up from the wall and walks to the front of the room.

"Let me tell you a tale," he says, standing before the dais. "One I think you will relate to. When I was a boy, Dun Doras was a different place. There would be old men and women who would refuse to deal with us and cursed us, not even bothering to whisper as they did so. With them as role models most everyone treated us badly. But now the young folk treat us as everyone else."

"But you were - ah - favoured by the king," Obol says, and his cheeks redden. "It is true! Everyone knows it. Indeed, we used to joke that perhaps the king would have married you, if you could have given him a child."

Aleksis responds coolly, with only a raised eyebrow, but the sudden whump of jealousy is like a kick to the stomach for Jack. "But it is not only I who am treated better. Is it not the same in your towns?"

"Things might be better than they were in the days of our grandfathers but that does not mean that there are not further improvements that can be made," says Yarrow. "When people find out that we are Selenan, they treat us differently. We are Umbran, just as our fathers and grandfathers were, back ten generations. We deserve to be treated as such - and we deserve the support of the king."

A cry goes up amongst the Selenans; finally something they can agree on. Even Aleksis is nodding.

"You have my support," Pitch says. "And you have given me much to think on. Let us reconvene in a few weeks-"

"With all respect, highness, we want answers sooner. There are people back home who are ready to revolt," says Linnet. "We need something to tell them."

"We've arranged to stay here tonight," says Samson. "We all agreed - we want answers by moonrise tomorrow."

Every voice is joined in agreement, and Pitch's jaw is tight. "Very well. Tomorrow."

"I am sorry, your highness," Yarrow says, coming to speak to Pitch alone after the end of the meeting. "I told them that twenty four hours is barely enough time for you to speak to those you must speak to, let alone to put anything in motion."

"I don't doubt that you advised your fellow Selenans well," Pitch says. "But they are full of anger and bitterness, and that is a mix that doesn't put one in a mind to listen to things one doesn't want to hear."

"Indeed. But my king; I advise you to make some decision tonight. Even if it's a small thing - you must show willing."

Pitch looks coolly down at Yarrow. To his credit, Yarrow neither flinches nor steps back.

"If you want these people and their communities on your side, you must show that you are willing to act for them. I don't forget that you are my king, and neither do they, but they have been fired up by Lord Tarr's actions. Small things that they have accepted as part of life, they've realised should be changed. They want to see change - and so do I. Too rarely has Umbran royalty paid attention to our needs and our troubles. It would be good for you to be the first in a long time."

Pitch agrees but promises nothing. The atmosphere is tense, and Jack is glad to leave.

When they step outside the air is thick with snow, more than Jack has ever seen. Huge flakes race through the night, making it hard to see more than an arm's length away. Reaching out with his magic, Jack feels the power and the strength in the snowstorm.

"I don't think it's going to stop soon," he says. "I could probably stop it-"

"No," Pitch says, and sighs. "I don't want you to strain yourself. I will take us back through the shadows to the palace. The rest of you will have to stay here."

“Most of the inns are filled with our northern guests; but you can stay with me,” Aleksis suggests. “I have room.”

“Excellent,” Pitch says. “If that's amenable to you?”

Alden and Onyx nod, and North looks between them.

“Even me?”

“Of course,” Aleksis says, slapping North on the shoulder. “I would be most interested to hear your tales of Lunanoff.”

“If a few tales are the price of a warm house and a good meal, it is a price I am willing to pay.” North pauses and grins. “Perhaps there might be brandy as well?”

Aleksis laughs. “Oh, yes. Lots of brandy. Lots and lots. I think we are going to get along very well, Prince North.”

Jack could tell Aleksis some Lunanovan tales of his own; the nights when North and his friends go out drinking are things of legend. He decides to keep silent. Let Aleksis find out for himself.

“Perhaps we should discuss matters, before you go,” Alden suggests, but Pitch shakes his head.

“No. I have had quite enough discussions for tonight. Let us think upon it and I'll return at dawn. Aleksis, is your study still as it was? I can come through the shadows there.”

“It is,” Aleksis assures him, and Jack feels a quick stab of jealousy that Pitch is so familiar with Aleksis's house. “Come at dawn, and I will provide a breakfast for us all. Food makes discussions better.”

“Brandy makes it better still,” North adds, and Jack can't say that he disagrees.

“Try not to drink too much,” Pitch says. “In case you hadn't noticed, we have an important day tomorrow.”

“I am aware, King Pitch,” North says, and they glare at one another for a long moment, until Onyx speaks up.

“It's too cold for posturing,” she says flatly. “Let us part ways, and tomorrow we can sort out this mess.”

They say their farewells, and as the others disappear into the white, Pitch pulls Jack into the shadows. 

===

When they get back Pitch goes to his punching bag to work off some of his frustration. Jack considers going with him, but he has his own way of finding peace. He goes out onto the balcony and meditates, feeling the wind’s touch, the snow in the clouds and the air and the ground.

He considers taking to the sky – but no. Not after last time. He thinks about all that happened, all it means.

A large proportion of the Selenans looked at him and saw the moon god. Perhaps not all of them thought it in religious terms, but instead as a sign. Whatever their reasons it doesn’t really matter. He is either a god or an omen, and he doesn’t particularly want to be either. It seems that Ben was right- Jack is a catalyst in the Selenan community. At least now he can be a force for peace instead of strife.

In the room behind him he hears the door open and he steps inside. Pitch’s hair drips with water; he must have bathed after his exercise. He looks a little calmer now, though his face is still stormy and brooding. There’s a decanter of brandy on the side and Jack goes to pour Pitch a glass, pours one for himself as well. They could both use it.

“Are you feeling better?” Jack asks quietly, and Pitch takes a deep drink of the brandy before answering.

“Somewhat. The edge of my anger is dimmed. But Tarr… He served my father for years, and myself. Whatever his quarrel, why not _tell_ us?”

“Perhaps he just wanted power,” Jack suggests. “And being a warden was not enough.”

“But then why enlist the aid of the Selenans?” He shakes his head. “I fear that I feel Benard’s touch in this.”

Jack goes very still and then empties his glass in a few gulps, wincing at the burning in his throat. “You truly think that Ben is controlling Tarr? Like he tried to do to me?”

“Or that they are working side by side. I don’t know. I hate to think of it. If that’s the case then Benard might have been privy to so many of my counsels, might know so many of our weaknesses and strifes.” He shakes his head, anger flashing in his eyes. “Tarr has always been one of my most valued allies. He even helped organise the search for Karine and Seraphina...” He looks distraught, his face drawn, and Jack takes his hand. 

“I’m sorry, Pitch.” As Pitch looks down at him, his expression softens and he kisses Jack’s forehead.

“Whatever Tarr’s motivations, he needs to be stopped. Captain Flint is investigating where he and his rebels might be – assuming I can trust Flint,” Pitch adds sourly. “But we have a more pressing matter to consider. The meeting today.”

“They seemed to want more than you could possibly give,” Jack says, and Pitch nods.

“To be sure; I doubt they expect all to be agreed at once. But I must give some concessions.”

“What are you thinking?”

“The matter of representation, firstly. That they should have a Selenan on the council of each town with a large Selenan population. It makes sense; it might be a minority, but if it’s a large one they should be represented. Not as a full council member, but a consultant of some sort.” He trails off and looks into the distance, lost in thought. "I think I'll have a little more brandy. For you?"

"Please."

Jack watches Pitch refill the glasses, but after handing Jack his, Pitch remains standing, swirling the liquid and staring down at it.

"Is there anything I can do? I might not be able to advise as Alden would, but if you'd like to talk it through I'm happy to listen."

“I know that Yarrow is right; that I’ll have to do _something_ , even if it’s just a token gesture. Yet what’s the point in a token gesture? It would be better by far if they’d have given me the chance to make real change.”

“To be honest, they didn’t really seem to know what they wanted. I thought they were going to come to you with a list of problems that they had agreed on, but it was nothing like that. Everyone wanted something different, and shouted over everyone else.”

“They’re angry and scared. Perhaps in time they would be able to agree on their most important issues, but they’re afraid that things will degenerate when word of Tarr’s betrayal gets out.” Pitch’s hands tighten on the edge of the seat. “I know how they feel.”

“Do - do you think people will rebel?”

“I hope not. In general Umbra is a peaceful country, all of our different peoples working together. I fear that this peace has made me lax. As a war general I was used to battle strategy, troop movements and tactical games. But looking at things from the point of view of a king is very different. I’m afraid, Jack. I’m afraid that I’ll do the wrong thing and plunge my country into a civil war. I’m afraid that while I’m engrossed in this, Benard will get away with more evils, perhaps even in Umbra itself. I’m afraid that everything’s going to go wrong and it will all be my fault.”

“No,” Jack says, shaking his head. “You have your council, you have Onyx; there’s Lady Ravus too. You’re not on your own.”

“But ultimately it’s my responsibility, and I’m not sure I’m worthy of it,” Pitch says, and then sighs. He looks up at Jack and gives him a wry, tired smile. “Self-pity doesn’t suit me, does it?”

“Confidence suits you better.”

Pitch goes quiet and looks at Jack. Staying silent, Jack looks right back, taking in everything that is his king. The grey skin, silver-gold eyes, narrow lips. The elegant bone structure, his slender limbs. Jack lifts a hand and tugs Pitch's robe open a little and runs a finger over his collarbone. The frown melts from Pitch’s forehead and his lips quirk into a smile. 

“You are very good at distracting me, Jack,” Pitch says, catching Jack's hand and kissing it.

“I think that right now you need distracting.” Gulping down his brandy, he puts the empty glass on the windowsill and puts Pitch’s by its side. He steps forward Pitch so that their bodies are pressed close. For a moment Jack stays there, enjoying the heat of Pitch’s body. But then it’s not enough. He needs more; he needs everything. He needs distracting, just as Pitch does. Reaching up to the back of Pitch’s neck, Jack pulls him down for a kiss. His tongue darts into Pitch’s mouth, tasting brandy. Pitch’s hands go to Jack’s waist, holding tightly, anchoring him and keeping him where he belongs. Pitch parts his lips, letting Jack explore and letting him lead for as long as he can bear, but when Jack grinds their hips together, Pitch gives a low guttural growl and takes charge. 

He grabs a handful of Jack’s hair and moves him how he wants him. Jack sighs happily, sinking into the feeling of someone else being in control; of knowing that he’s being looked after and he doesn’t need to worry about a thing. Heat seems to spread from Pitch to Jack, filling him, consuming him, and by the time they have to part for air, Jack’s body is shaking with small tremors. 

“I want you,” he whispers, and Pitch’s eyes flash. 

"I told you, Jack - you have to tell me _what_ you want."

Jack pauses; nervousness flickers across his skin like an itch, ridiculous considering everything they are to each other. "I want - I want you in control."

A moment as Pitch considers; he takes Jack's hand in his and rubs his fingers over the back of it, tracing blue veins and skimming over the bumps of his knuckles. "I would be very happy with that. But I still need to know what you _want_."

"I want you inside me. It's been too long. But - I want you to use the toy on me first. _Because_ it's been so long." A little bit, too, because of Ben's disparaging words about them; he wants to prove all of Ben's words wrong, especially those about him and Pitch. It's worth it too for the flash of longing in Pitch's eyes, for the hungry kiss he plants on his lips.

"You will get everything you want, Jack. But if you want to stop or slow down at any time-"

"I'll let you know. I promise."

Pitch nods and then looks at Jack, one long finger tapping his lips thoughtfully. "Alright then," he says, his voice going deep and smooth. He reaches for Jack's cheek, and he shivers pleasantly at both the touch and the confidence in Pitch's gaze. This is how his king should look, not twisted in worry about conspiracies and traitors. "Firstly, I want you naked."

An order Jack fulfils quickly and willingly, stripping off his robe and trousers, and lastly his underthings. He drops them to the floor but Pitch tuts and shakes his head.

"Come now, Jack. What would Amber think? Tidily, now."

Jack raises an eyebrow at him but does as he's bid, folding everything carefully and putting it on a chair.

"Good." Putting his hands behind his back Pitch circles Jack slowly, his eyes roving every inch of Jack's bared flesh. At first Jack feels self conscious, worrying that Pitch will wince or look away from his scars, but he does neither. He views them with as much pleasure as he does the rest of him, and when his hands start to explore what his eyes have already discovered, he doesn't shy away from the scars. His fingers touch gently, skimming over every part of him: shoulders, arms, chest and waist; then lower, his buttocks and thighs, and his cock too, pulling it into hardness with a few short strokes. Jack gasps at the touch, and at the cocky smile on Pitch's lips. It makes him want to get on his knees, but Pitch already has other plans.

"On the bed, Jack," he says, and Jack complies willingly. He only just holds himself back from scrabbling onto the sheets like an over eager puppy; instead he retains his coolness and lies down elegantly, on his side, hiding his modesty with a leg just as he did the night Pitch took his virginity. It seems Pitch doesn't miss the significance, for he stares down at Jack with longing shining in his eyes, accompanied by affection and love. Being looked at with such passion feels like a special gift, and Jack feels a flush heat his cheeks. His cock responds too, getting harder and hotter, hidden as it is against his thigh.

Pitch seems to recall himself and their plans. He moves, going to the bedside table and crouching to remove the wooden box that houses the toys, as well as a glass bottle of oil. He sets the oil on the table and the toys on the bed, opening the box to reveal the toys within. The candlelight plays across their surface, flickering and yellow.

"Which do you want me to use, Jack? Which would you like inside you?"

"The bigger one," Jack whispers. "After your fingers have stretched me wide enough."

"Excellent." Pitch moves the box so that he can sit on the bed and then after a moment's thought, he takes one of the pillows and puts it beneath Jack's lower back, angling him for easier access. "Legs open," he says as he reaches for the oil, dripping it onto his fingers, making them slick and shiny.

Nerves attack Jack again, and this time it isn't so silly. It hurt the first time, and it's been so long that he's sure it will hurt again.

 _It's worth it though,_ Jack tells himself. He forces himself to breathe slow and deep as Pitch looks down at him, pushing his thighs wider.

"Are you ready Jack? One finger at first, just one."

"I'm ready."

It doesn't hurt. It feels good, instantly. Not just good but _right_. He moans, a little tremulous thing, more for the revelation than the physical feeling.

"That's good, Jack," Pitch says, and his praise makes Jack smile. "You're so ready for this, aren't you?"

"Always," Jack whispers. "Another."

A ghost of pain this time but the pressure is such a perfect thing, knowing he's being prepared for his king's cock makes him shiver in delight. The third finger genuinely hurts and he cries out, but when Pitch stills, asking if he wants to stop, his concern is enough to make Jack bear it; besides, it quickly yields to pleasure and he is making little gasping noises, his hips thrusting up to meet Pitch's hand. The movements make his cock bounce against his stomach but that's all the stimulation he gets. Most likely for the best; he's sure he could come just from this.

"Are you ready for the toy, Jack?" Pitch has lifted it from the box and is examining it. He is still fully clothed and looking so completely cool and in control that it makes Jack whimper, wanting to please him, eager to submit to his every desire.

"Yes, my king."

Oil is poured over it and then it is laid against his hole, not pushing in, merely waiting. With his spare hand Pitch pushes Jack's thigh even further, enough to produce a delicious ache. He still doesn't move and Jack whimpers.

"Please, Pitch. I want it inside me. I - I want to feel it stretch me, I want to be prepared for your cock, please, please."

Heat is like a forest fire in Pitch's eyes, but he retains his controlled demeanour. "As you wish, Jack."

There's a flash of white-hot pain as it presses inside him and he cries out. Pitch hesitates and only Jack's cries of _don't stop don't stop don't stop_ keep him from pulling it out. Instead it is pushed deeper inside him, cold and hard, and as Jack's body adapts to it he becomes a gasping whining mess, begging for more. Both of his hands curl in the silky sheets and Pitch's whispers, telling him what a good boy he is, _such_ a good boy, are almost too much to bear. He bites down on his lower lip hard enough to taste copper, and tries to ignore his aching cock. His back lifts from the bed in an arch, and the way it changes the angle of the toy inside him makes Jack cry out. He's only a hair away from coming and he tells Pitch, but the words come out garbled.

"Jack? Do you want me to stop?" Jack forces his eyes open to see the concern on Pitch's face and smiles up at him.

"I want you to fuck me."

For a moment Pitch only stares, and then he darts in to claim Jack's mouth thoroughly, his tongue thrusting in, a hand pulling on Jack's hair.

"Then I shall," he says, breathless, when he pulls away. He stands and steps away from the bed, leaving the toy inside Jack. "Keep on fucking yourself with that while I undress," Pitch tells him. Despite the awkwardness of the angle it still feels good, all the better because of the promise of Pitch inside him soon, and the hungry little glances Pitch keeps throwing him despite the purposeful slowness with which he removes his clothes. A thought floats through Jack's mind that he should put on a show for Pitch, tease him, but he couldn't concentrate on it and besides, he is whining and whimpering so much that it's already a show without any effort. He stares when Pitch is finally naked, his cock jutting proudly from his body, long and thick and so very, very hard.

"Come here," Jack gasps, still fucking himself with irregular thrusts, unable to keep up a tempo when he is so close to coming. When Pitch is at the side of the bed he's exactly where Jack wants him: with his cock within reach of Jack's lips. Shifting on the bed, he swallows down a cry at the changing angle of the toy inside him, and moves so that he can take Pitch's cock in his mouth. The first taste of him is almost enough to push Jack over the edge, and he has to pause, gasping, not even fucking himself with the toy for a moment lest he come too soon. Or perhaps that might not be so bad; he could come with Pitch's cock in his mouth and the toy in his ass, and then Pitch could fuck him into hardness.

Yes, Jack decides with a sudden rush of hunger. That's what he wants. Still not touching himself, he tries to gather a better rhythm and uses his other hand to wrap around the base of Pitch's cock and hold him steady. He's rewarded with a grunt from Pitch, that draws out into a groan as Jack licks his lips and slides them over the head of his cock. Bobbing his head, he takes him a little deeper, a little deeper, until it hits the back of his throat. He forces himself to keep going, swallowing him carefully, trying to breathe around it, struggling and finding that he likes it, likes the feeling of not being able to fill his lungs because of the cock filling his mouth and throat, and then with a startled, muffled cry he's coming, his cock jerking as his pearly seed spurts from it without a hand to hold it steady. His muscles tighten around the toy and his pleasure soars to new peaks, and he has to pull away and collapses to the bed, gasping for breath as his climax rips through him.

It's almost like he loses consciousness for a moment, or like he's floating. But then he hears Pitch's voice calling his name and he smiles at it, turning towards it. He reaches out and his hands find soft warm skin.

"Jack!"

"Pitch," Jack sighs, still smiling, and opens his eyes. Pitch looks so worried. It seems silly and Jack reaches up a hand to wipe the frown away.

"Are you alright?"

"Perfect." He sees that his hand is on Pitch's bicep and he strokes it, sighing at the feel of the hard muscle beneath his skin. "Perfect."

Pitch looks down at him for a moment, unsure. It makes him look young and Jack smiles wider, filled with love for him. "I'll get a towel and clean you up," Pitch says. "Then you can go to sleep and-"

"No," Jack says, the floaty feeling starting to dissolve. "No, I need you inside me."

"But..." Pitch trails off as if trying to think of an argument, but words fail him as he looks down as Jack's naked, come-covered body.

"Inside me," Jack repeats, his hand tightening on Pitch's arm. "I want you to come inside me. I want to come again with you inside me. Please. I need to know you want me still."

"Of course I want you." Pitch's voice breaks and he drops to sit on the bed, pulling Jack into his arms. "Gods, Jack, look at you, just look at you. You want me so much. You _need_ me so much."

"I do."

Pitch kisses him again, just as claiming, but gentle this time. He reaches for the toy, which is still half in Jack's body, and pulls it out slowly. There's a moment when it slips out of him when Jack panics at the emptiness, gasping and clawing at Pitch; but his king whispers sweet words to him, kisses him, tells him it's only for a moment.

"On your back," he instructs, and Jack follows orders, shifting the pillows until he's comfortable and letting his thighs drop apart.

Pitch reaches for the oil and then holds it a moment, looking at Jack.

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

Then Pitch grins at him, and gives a deep chuckle. "Even after that you're still hungry for my cock."

Jack nods and then watches Pitch: first he pools oil into his hand and then he slicks it over his cock, his breath hitching slightly. He looks up at Jack.

"You're ready?"

"Yes," Jack says, impatient; but then Pitch moves on top of him, between his legs, the tip of his cock pressed against Jack's tender hole. "Yes," he sighs, but his fingers dig into Pitch's arms. This was how they first joined their bodies, Jack remembers; then, when he came, he spilled ice as well as his seed. He has more control now - though when Pitch presses inside that surety whirls away.

So big. So _big_! Jack's grateful he had the foresight to ask to be stretched with the toy. 

Careful, gentle thrusts, stretching him inch by inch. It hurts enough that Jack squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his jaw. He’s so sensitive after coming that even with Pitch’s gentleness it hurts. But he goes slowly, so slowly, that the oversensitivity has faded to an almost bearable level by the time  
Pitch's hips are against his. Pitch groans but Jack can't even breathe. His eyes are closed as he tries to commit this to memory, this moment of perfection. After everything that's happened he _deserves_ this. It's his reward for surviving, for being strong even when he didn't want to.

When Pitch moves it's even better. He starts off slow and careful, watching Jack carefully for any sign he wants to stop. He doesn’t get it. He likes the pain of being claimed, of being wanted.

After a few minutes of slow thrusts, Pitch hooks Jack's knees over his shoulders so that he can fuck him deeper. A high-toned whine escapes Jack as a flash of panic crashes into bliss. He can feel every inch of Pitch’s cock, every inch of his own skin, shivery hot and incredibly sensitive. His cock starts to harden, slow but sure. He concentrates on the feeling, giving a weak grin as he gets all the way hard just from having Pitch's cock inside him. It feels like an accomplishment, and Jack feels proud when Pitch strokes him, tender though he is.

"I want you to come inside me," Jack groans, and Pitch groans, his hand tightening painfully around Jack's cock. "I _need_ you to come inside me."

"I will," Pitch promises, thrusting deep so that both of them cry out. "Once you've come again."

He keeps up a good pace, and soon Jack is shivering, feeling the edges of his vision blur as his climax starts to encroach. It takes much longer this time, a slow burn, but Pitch has said that he will only come once Jack does, so he _has_ to. It will please his king.

"Come for me," Pitch says once he’s made Jack a shaking, whimpering mess, and the command in his voice tears it from him, drowning him so that there's nothing in the world but the pleasure consuming him and the pleasure-pain of Pitch's cock still inside him, thrusting hard as Pitch chases his own pleasure.

"Good boy," Pitch gasps as Jack lies there, unable to move, his mouth open and his breath ragged. "So good. My beautiful Jack."

His thrusts are deep and irregular, holding onto Jack's hips to keep him in place since Jack can't quite seem to control his body; in moments he is spilling his seed inside Jack with a choked roar, hips stilling, fingers leaving souvenir bruises on Jack's skin.

He collapses onto Jack and for long breaths they're tangled together, not quite Pitch and not quite Jack, but _them_ , an _us_ , not separate beings but finally, gloriously whole.

That sense of completeness doesn't last long, but its sweetness stays with them. When Pitch lifts his head he looks down at Jack with a tired smile filled with wonder, and sprinkles kisses over his face, making him giggle.

"Incredible," he says, and if he can only manage the one word then that's better than Jack, for he can manage only a smile.

Jack's half asleep by the time Pitch moves again, pulling his softening cock out of Jack and leaving him feeling so horribly empty. More kisses ease that. Managing to keep one eye open, he watches Pitch get a towel to clean the two of them up, then grumbles as Pitch makes him put on a bedrobe.

"If Seraphina comes into our room in the middle of the night, she is going to find us both clothed," he says, pulling on his own bedrobe.

Jack nods in agreement but his eyes are falling shut, and he's asleep before Pitch even gets into bed, more content and relaxed than he's been for months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING OKAY. So amazing. Thank you as ever for all your kudos and comments and notes, you make me want to cry with your awesomeness. 
> 
> Please check out the new [fanart and fanfic](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanworks-of-my-fic-what) asdfghjkl oh my goodness I am so lucky <3
> 
> Thanks as ever go to [Impextoo](impextoo.tumblr.com), my super-awesome beta. All errors left are mine and mine alone.


	25. Chapter 25

"Jack!"

He lifts his nodding head and blinks rapidly before looking guiltily over at Amber. He barely slept last night, too worried about Ben, about the Selenans, about Tarr, about the Lunanovans. When there's so much to worry about, who has time for sleep? By his side, Pitch had been awake too, but neither of them spoke, not wanting to infect the other with their worries. By the time Jack had curled up against Pitch and drifted off, it was time to wake. Not even dawn yet-

" _Jack,_ " Amber says again, exasperated. "Are you listening?"

"Sorry," he says, yawning. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"I know that feeling," Amber sighs, and gestures at the breakfast. Ivor's brought it into the reception room for them to share. "You want some porridge?"

He nods and lets her spoon it out into bowls while he pours them both tea, sweetening it with honey. Though he isn’t hungry, he eats anyway. Perhaps it will rejuvenate him; with another day full of meetings, he needs it. 

"I'm surprised you're not down at the archives with the king," Amber says, sipping at her tea.

"I'd have liked to, but when Pitch told me that the head librarian would be there, I decided against it."

"Roth?” Amber nods sympathetically. “He's a bit of a viper."

"He wouldn't let me go to the magical archives because he said I'd steal the books, being Selenan and all."

Amber blinks at him. "He truly said that? Did you tell the king?"

"No. Kal said I should but..." Jack trails off as the too-familiar claw of grief hooks itself into his heart.

"Perhaps you should tell him now. Especially with the Selenans talking about how they've been mistreated - I'm not sure if it's a good idea to have someone like that in such an important position."

"I don't want him to lose his livelihood just because he was mean to me."

"It's more than that-"

"I'll think about it." Jack winces at how short he sounds. Amber merely raises an eyebrow and then concentrates on her porridge. Jack rubs his eyes and then sighs. Tiredness is no excuse for being snappish. He reaches into the pocket of his bedrobe to touch the crystal that Ombric gave to him. It’s become a habit for him to carry it around so that he always has something to calm him when he needs it. It’s a poor replacement for Nightlight, but it will have to do. “There’s too much going on right now to concentrate on anything else. All this with Tarr and the Selenans - Onyx must be so upset about it."

Amber stops with her spoon halfway to her mouth, and then puts it down with a sigh. "She's never really gotten along with Tarr, but in a way that makes it worse. She has all these ideas that it's her fault somehow - that if she was a better daughter he wouldn't have done this." She shakes her head, her long silver earrings swaying with the movement. "Logically, she knows it's not true. But then, she wonders, what is?"

“What do you think? Why _did_ he do it?”

“Who knows? Tarr’s always had a taste for power. Maybe it’s as simple as that.”

“I was thinking though - the timing.” Jack licks his lips, feeling the dull thud of his pulse in the base of his throat. This is one of the things that kept him awake. It seemed too improbable to bother Pitch with and yet his mind fixated on it. “It seems almost - almost as if it might be a distraction. From Ben.”

Amber looks thoughtful and swirls her spoon in the bowl. “I suppose. I can’t see how Ben would have contacted Tarr, though.”

“The Selenans said that people had spoken to them, tried to convince them to join Ben. Couldn’t they do the same to Tarr?”

“It could be-”

“And Ben’s been part of the negotiations between Lunanoff and Umbra for years,” Jack adds, his words coming out in a rush. “Just think how many people Ben could have spoken to - maybe even brought over to his side. Tarr was one of Pitch’s most trusted allies. It makes you wonder who we can trust. If we can trust anyone.”

Stillness settles over Amber, and she looks at him carefully. “You have to, Jack. You can’t let him hurt you like this. He’s hurt you enough already.”

Jack gives a broken-glass laugh and puts a hand to his scar-sigils. “Yes, he has. But this isn’t about me.”

“It is. It’s about what he did to you-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Jack keeps his voice flat, but his heart is starting to race. Memories that he’s been trying to ignore patter at him like rain against a window - not painful, not yet, but constant to the extent that he can’t ignore it. 

“I know, I understand - but you should. You really should. If you don’t, it will fester - it will only get worse-”

Jack shakes his head. “I’m not in his dungeons any more. I count that as better, not worse.”

“No, but if you don’t talk about it-”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” Ghostly pain, not quite real, tingles across the scar-sigils. With it comes flashes of memory, of each cut in his skin, and he hears himself give a broken sound as he stands up, barely noticing the thud of his chair as it hits the floor. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and he opens a window, leaning out and sucking in cold lungfuls of air. He stares intently at the snowy ground and concentrates on not thinking, not remembering. It works, but he can feel the memories there, insidious, waiting, infinitely patient. Whenever his guard is down, they’ll overcome him. Like the shadows that dragged him to Ben-

The wind grabs him and rushes him outside, a powerful gust of cold wind pulling him high above the palace roof. His limbs shake and his heart races and he wants to run run run, but there is nowhere to go, nowhere that he can escape from the memories that are clawing at him. He pauses, feeling like a coiled spring, and stares at the edge of the forest. The trees are silhouetted against the dark sky, a ribbon of grey on the horizon heralding the dawn. Anger twists in him – not at Amber but at Ben and Riann. The desire for vengeance flares in him but is quickly extinguished by fear. He’s not in the dungeons anymore, no, but in some ways he never left. He’s still here, manacled in Riann’s torture chamber, the poker glowing in the brazier-

He screams, anger cresting, and the light flurry of snow thickens to a blizzard in the space of a breath. 

“Jack!” Amber. Jack looks down to see her staggering out onto Pitch’s balcony, the wind making her steps a struggle. Her red dress is a flash of brightness glimpsed between raging snowflakes. “Jack - I’m sorry! Please come down.”

The fear in her voice dashes his anger from him, and suddenly he’s just so tired. The snow eases and he moves closer to the balcony though he stays in the air, ready to flee if he needs to. 

She comes to the wall and rests her pale hands on the snowy ledge. Her expression is stricken. “Jack, I’m sorry.” She says again and shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” He doesn’t say anything. “It’s just – I know what it’s like. And I know it’s only going to get worse if you don’t talk about it.”

“How do you know? How could you have any idea of what it’s like, to have – to have that happen to you? To try and deal with it?”

She touches her eyepatch. “I know, Jack. I know.”

He stares at her.

Amber looks away. “It took me a long time to talk to anyone. Even then, I couldn’t bring myself to talk to Onyx. She tried to help, but I couldn’t admit those things to her. In the end, the only person I could bring myself to talk to was someone else who knew what it was like. but even then, it was hard. I remember feeling like everyone was pushing me to talk when I wasn’t ready - and I just did that to you. I’m sorry.”

“You were - someone - did that - they...?” He can’t bring himself to say the word. _Torture_. It seems so melodramatic. 

She nods and then hugs herself, for comfort or maybe from cold - her dress isn’t much protection against the freezing temperatures and still-falling snow. “I should have known better than to push you. I remember what it’s like - only too well.”

“But - you get better, right?" The note of desperation in his voice makes Jack wince. "All this - fear. Anger. It goes away. Right?”

She shakes her head minutely. “It gets better. But it never goes away.”

The words make Jack want to fly away again, but this is something that’s a part of him; distance won’t change anything. He suddenly feels as if he weighs as much as the whole palace. “I don’t want to feel like this.”

“I know. I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet.” He sighs. “Nor do I have the time.”

“It can be good to keep busy. You should see the size of the royal wardrobe in Blenkeld; I wasn’t even the Royal Dresser at the time. Sewing kept me busy, gave me something to concentrate on. And it got me this job,” she says with a fleeting smile, and then rubs at her arms. “Will you come back inside, Jack?”

After a moment, he nods. After all the times he’s misstepped, he can forgive her this once. Besides, maybe she’s right. Maybe it will help to talk about it - at some point. 

“Alright. But for today, can we just - not? I’ve got so much to think about and I - I just want some things to be normal. Or as normal as they can be. Once all this with Tarr and the Selenans is sorted - then I’ll think about it.”

She nods. “Alright, Jack. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here for you.”

Back in the rooms, Jack gets his wish for normalcy. Amber gives him a handful of clothes, and Jack goes into the bathroom to change. It’s another cross between Lunanovan and Umbran styles, dark blue trousers and a royal tunic with silver embroidery in a Lunanovan pattern, scattered with moons and stars. It’s rather pretty, though when Jack glances in the mirror he can’t say the same of himself. The lack of sleep is telling in the bruises under his eyes, the paleness of his skin showing blue veins beneath. He sighs and rubs his eyes. Reminding himself that he was the one who offered to help out at these meetings, he goes back into the dressing room. He and Amber look at each other, measuring, seeing where they stand with one another. Amber is the first one to smile, but only just; Jack’s own chases it a second later. They aren’t very good at staying angry with each other.

“Come here,” Amber says. “Let’s make you look pretty for your meetings.”

She applies more makeup than usual, paying special attention to the dark circles under his eyes. A little colour over his lids, some blush on his cheeks. When she lifts a mirror so that he can see himself, he stares at his reflection.

“Are you sure you don’t have magic, Amber?”

She laughs and pats his shoulder. “I’m just good at what I do.”

A little jewellery – a sapphire drop in his ear, a few rings on his fingers – and then she picks up a silver-handled brush and pulls it through his hair.

“How are you finding all these meetings?” 

“Pitch’s councillors are a little boring. I guess they’d be even more boring if they were just talking about mining laws and tax increases. The meeting with the Selenans was definitely not boring. They seemed to be arguing with each other as much as they were making demands of Pitch.”

“And is the king going to meet their demands?”

“I don’t think he can – not all of them, anyway.” He worries his lip ring with his tongue. “You don’t think they’d really declare war, would they? I mean, if they wanted independence they’d have just joined Lord Tarr.”

A small noise interrupts them, and Jack glances in the mirror to see Jasper push in through the door. He pads over to them and leaps onto Jack’s lap. 

“You’re supposed to be looking after the princess,” Amber tells the cat, as though he could reply. “I hope you didn’t wake her.” Jasper looks up at her and makes the noise again before settling into Jack’s lap. “And now you’re getting fur all over Jack’s clothes.”

“It’s alright,” Jack says, carefully stroking his back. Jasper purrs at his touch. Here is someone who won’t ask him to talk, won’t ask awkward questions. All he needs to do to make Jasper happy is stroke him. Finally, a task Jack feels capable of.

“He’s always getting in the way,” Amber says fondly, reaching down to scratch his head and the purring gets louder. “About the Selenans, though - you’re probably right. It is a possibility though, however small.” He twists to look over his shoulder at her, and she tuts at him, putting his head back where it was so that she can finish his hair. “Very small. There aren’t that many Selenans compared to the population as a whole.”

“If there is war – what will happen?”

Amber is quiet as she picks up a jar of wax to style his hair. She’s quiet too as she dips her fingers in it and runs them through his hair, teasing it into shape. “War with the north, war with Benard to the south – we’d be in a difficult situation to be sure. It’s hard to say until we hear from the Sinaran Empress.”

Jack blinks. “You know that Pitch has contacted the Sinaran Empress?”

“I know everything that the king rants about while I’m dressing him,” Amber says with a laugh. “My main knowledge of the king is either that which angers him or that which upsets him.”

Jack pauses, thinking. “So which do I come under?”

“You’re in a category all of your own. He worries over you. He has ever since you first came to Umbra, and I think he always will. But mostly he moons over you. How lovely you are, how beautiful. A thing you said that made him smile; something you did that he admired.”

Jack blushes. “I didn’t know he said such things about me.”

“Oh, he doesn’t, not to anyone else. The relationship between a king and his dresser is a sacred thing. Almost like confessors to the laity.” Her voice is soft with a note of humour, but Jack wonders how much truth is behind the jest.

She sets a circlet upon his head, the same one as before, and then stands back to admire her work. “There. You can barely tell that you’ve been awake all night.”

“Perhaps I’ll manage to catch up on my sleep in the meeting.”

It’s a joke, but he comes close a couple of times. This time the councillors do talk of taxes and laws, in great detail. They get the huge books down from the shelf and discuss the nuances in the third paragraph on page 361. It continues along the same vein, and Jack is on the verge of falling asleep for the fifth time when he hears,

“Well, there’s always the option of a royal betrothal, which would go a long way towards pleasing the Selenans.” That’s Councillor Brennan, a lowborn man with watery eyes that he rubs every few minutes. 

Jack sits up straighter and gulps down some water in an attempt to stay alert. 

“It could be more than that - a betrothal could cement the treaty with the Lunanovans, and ensure their good behaviour,” says Paman, sitting forward and steepling his bejewelled fingers. “Lady Onyx could marry one of the Lunanovan princes – North and Bunnymund.”

“Or a high-ranking Selenan; there's a lord in the north-east, the lands have been in his family for years. He's quite handsome, so I hear-”

“I will not trade Onyx off like she's a bale of hay,” Pitch says flatly. Though the councillors nod in automatic agreement with their king, they pay little mind to his words. 

“It’s something we must consider,” Paman says. “There’s too much at stake to ignore such a potentially fruitful alliance.”

“Your highness, she's second in line to the throne,” says Lita. “It's her duty to marry well, just as it was yours when you married the queen. Not to mention that it is her duty to produce an heir. Being only half highborn it is possible that she might have several children, to be heirs in case anything should happen to the princess.”

Lita gets a very cold look directed at her, but she doesn’t look away and she doesn’t back down. For all that Pitch is king, Jack is coming to realise that he doesn’t always get his own way. 

“Besides, your highness, that was before this business with the Lunanovans and Selenans,” says Paman. “If her marriage can bring about a secure peace, it must be done. Especially with her status as Lady of the North.”

There are nods of agreements from most of the councillors, and no-one speaks up for Onyx. Jack frowns. This is all too similar to his last day in Lunanoff.

“Shouldn’t she at least be part of these discussions?” he asks, and Pitch gives him a look of gratitude. 

“Jack is right,” he says. “We will have no more discussion of this until she is here.”

“What about yourself then, your highness?” Mika says. “What if you were to marry?” 

It’s possible that he’s only saying that to be argumentative, or to needle Pitch, but Jack’s heart leaps into his throat and his head snaps to look at Pitch; he’s glad to see that Pitch’s eyes are narrowed. The possibility of Pitch's remarrying has occurred to him since he was told of Karine's death, and each time he pushed the thought aside as if it was a candle he could extinguish. He can't stand the idea of having to share Pitch. Perhaps that has worked for previous courtesans and consorts, but not him.

“Princess Toothiana could be a good prospect,” Mika continues. “Especially if you could get a child on her. I know it's unlikely at your age, but with a non-highborn partner it's a possibility.”

Jack’s mouth drops open. His sister and Pitch? Oh, he can just picture it. How lovely they would look, Tooth’s gemstone colours against Pitch’s grey and black. His mind helpfully provides an image of Pitch naked in his bed, Tooth by his side, and Jack’s skin crawls. “No,” he hisses, but no-one seems to hear. 

“We've never had a consort who wasn't highborn,” points out Councillor Brennan with pursed lips. “I know that in recent decades it's become more acceptable, but a royal child that isn't pure-blooded-”

“Princess Seraphina has Selenan blood from her mother's side,” Mika says dismissively. “That's not as important anymore. The important thing will be the union. Perhaps a half-Selenan child would be exactly what is needed to make an alliance concrete-”

“Pitch isn't marrying Tooth,” Jack snaps, getting to his feet and glaring at the lot of them. “If you want him to marry a Selenan he can marry me.”

He means it as a throwaway comment, something to startle them from their endless discussions, but the councillors – and Pitch – all look at him in a silence that stretches out until one councillor says, thoughtful,

“Perhaps that would be an even better choice. True, there could be no child, but the Selenans put much value on Jack, looking as he does like their moon god.”

“That's true. And if they see it as an affront that he was taken as courtesan, then surely elevating him to consort will please them.”

“Get out,” Pitch snaps, slamming his hand on the table. When all the councillors stare at him, he jabs a finger towards the door. “Leave. I need to talk to Jack. Now!”

Grumbling, the councillors file out, and Jack’s heart sinks. It’s too soon after Pitch has found out about Karine’s death to make a jest like that, Jack knows it. The few times that Pitch has been truly angry with him, more often than not it was a mention of Karine. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, wondering if he’ll ever be able to stop saying such stupid things; if he’ll ever be able to stop apologising.

“Why are you sorry?” Pitch’s voice is soft, and Jack dares to look up at him. His eyes are gentle, and Jack lets himself relax a little. 

“Because of what I said. Because - of course I can’t take Karine’s place.”

“You can’t, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be my consort. I didn’t know you had even considered it - that you would want that.”

Jack looks at him, carefully. “But - _you_ want that?”

“Of course.”

Jack goes perfectly still. He hardly dares breathe. This - has to be a dream. Can't be real. Jack knows Pitch loves him but the councillors were right, Pitch needs more heirs. No-one has ever wanted Jack when they could have someone better than him instead.

His eyes flick up and meet Pitch's. He's sitting silently, letting Jack think, but the intensity in his eyes makes Jack gasp. It makes him a little hard, too. No-one has ever looked at Jack with even a hundredth of the emotion as Pitch does. It makes him feel - wanted. Adored. Special. Maybe even special enough to be a consort.

He sucks in a shuddering breath. Oh. _Oh._

"You mean it," he says, dimly, and Pitch touches his chin, tilting his head up to meet his eyes.

"With everything I am, I mean it."

Jack's heart leaps, buoyed by reckless joy that obliterates his doubt. He launches himself at Pitch and kisses him, throwing everything into it. He remembers the kisses on his balcony; in his garden; the many kisses in their bed, in the royal residences, in Santoff Claussen. Wonderful kisses, whether sweet or simmering, but none of them have anything on this.

When Jack finally pulls away, he's awkwardly sitting in Pitch's lap, one of Pitch's hands on his lower back to steady him. They smile at one another and the dawn seems to have a new brightness to it, the fusty council room a new charm.

"My consort," Pitch murmurs, tasting the word and holding Jack's gaze captive.

"My king," Jack says, smiling, and Pitch pulls him in for another searing kiss that leaves Jack breathless and shivering.

"When we get back tonight I am going to ravish you, Jack.” A pause; a hungry smile. “If you want me to, of course."

"Oh, I want it," Jack says, and settles more comfortably in Pitch's lap. He rests his hands on Pitch’s chest, feeling it rise and fall, feeling the warmth of his breath on his lips. Jack smiles and leans in, pressing his lips to Pitch's. Something he intended to be slow and teasing becomes hot and desperate as Pitch takes control of it. Jack shivers and leans in closer, his hands sliding up to wrap around Pitch's neck. The heat of the kiss lights a fire in both of them, and as much as Jack would like to continue, he's uncomfortably aware that the councillors are just outside.

"When we get back from Dun Doras," he promises in a whisper. "Then you can tie me up. Put me where you want me. Where I want to be. Ravish me, like you said."

"You have my promise, Jack," Pitch says in a rich, deep voice threaded through with want. One last darting kiss, and then Jack stands, rearranging his clothes to hide the beginnings of an erection. Once he's taken his seat, Pitch calls out for the councillors to return.

"I have discussed the matter with Jack, and I think it's an excellent idea. We should start making arrangements immediately."

There’s surprisingly little objection. All the councillors seem to be in agreement. They agree to wait to hear from the Empress before announcing the betrothal, so that they have a better idea of where they stand, and they agree to wait until Alden is present before anything is finalised. Jack wonders if there’s any chance that the meeting with the Selenans will go so smoothly.

The rest of the meeting wraps up quickly; an agreement over what will be offered to the Selenans immediately; what will be looked at in the future. The whole time Pitch keeps hold of Jack's hand, and a smile never leaves Jack's face.

===

Aleksis’s cozy living room seems like a strange place for Jack to fight his brother. 

Yet here they are, sparks crackling over Jack’s skin and North towering over him, glaring over the top of his head at Pitch. With his brother in another fussy Lunanovan concoction of layered lace and glittering damask, the whole situation seems outlandish, like a badly-costumed play. But the anger in the room is very real, like a choking smoke poisoning the air. 

“He is not marrying you,” North thunders, his hands curled tightly into fists. 

“You think you have a say in the matter?” Pitch asks with deadly softness as shadows dance threateningly on the walls. 

“This is my decision, North,” Jack says, trying to hold onto his wriggling temper. 

“You are forcing him into it,” North says to Pitch as though Jack isn’t even there, and Jack leaps into the air so that they are of a height and then leans in until their faces are only a foot apart. Jack gives North the most ferocious glare he can muster and makes the temperature of the room plummet. Let North try and ignore that.

“No-one is forcing me into anything,” he says, each word clipped. “For once in my life perhaps someone in my family could pay attention to me.”

North shakes his head. “You’re being coerced, Jack-”

Jack’s temper spikes - how dare North take something that fills Jack with such joy and try to twist it - but before he can act, Pitch steps forward, almost as close as Jack is and even angrier. 

“How dare you! Insult me if you like but do not treat Jack like he’s a child. After all that he’s done your people, after everything he’s given up, the least you can do is _listen_ to him-”

Jack jerks back as a wall of shadow slams up between them, and looks to Pitch - but Pitch is looking at Onyx, who has risen from her chair. She is pale and exhausted, and she looks like she is at the end of her patience. 

“Stop it,” she says, her hands in fists by her sides. “What good is this doing anyone? I am too tired and too heartsore to deal with this posturing. Prince North, you need to have more faith in your brother. He might be young, but he is wise beyond his years. I haven’t been involved with this betrothal, but I saw him make the decision to stay as Pitch’s courtesan. He asked questions, he thought everything through. No-one coerced him; the decision was his alone. I am confident that the same is true now.”

“I agree,” Alden says. “He is a clever young man and if this betrothal was his idea, it’s a smart choice. It will please the Selenans, and it will show all of Umbra how much value the king puts on your people. It’s very well done.”

“Not to mention that _I_ want this,” Jack says, still riding the wind to stay at North’s height. “You forced me to come here, to give up my freedom and my happiness. Instead I’ve found both of those things, more than I ever had in Lunanoff. Will you truly try and deny me that?”

North’s jaw tightens, but he shakes his head, once. 

“Now please sit,” Onyx says, gesturing at the chairs. “And let’s discuss what we’re going to tell the Selenans.”

The discussion is somewhat strained, and North doesn’t say a word. He just sits there radiating anger, and Jack is very tempted to throw a snowball at him. 

The others talk until Aleksis declares that it is time to leave. 

“I think the Selenans will be well pleased,” Alden says as he gathers up his notes. 

“I hope so,” Onyx says wearily. 

Aleksis pulls open the curtains and the dim early morning light trickles in. It’s still snowing lightly, as it was outside the palace. It softens everything, and it eases Jack’s heart. Let North grumble. He has no say in Jack's life, not anymore.

The others pull on cloaks but Jack declines when Aleksis offers to lend him one. 

Aleksis and Alden step outside, talking of adjustments to the travel circle. The open door lets in a delightfully frosty breeze, but before Jack can follow them out North touches his shoulder. 

Jack jerks away and glares up at him. Regret lights North’s eyes and he bows his head before stepping back, giving Jack space. 

“Please. Can I speak to you? Alone?”

“What do you want?”

“I-” North glances up at Pitch and the regret shifts to anger. “Something I would not say in the presence of others.”

“Whatever you have to say, just say it.” He hopes that North will give up; he’s had enough of this for one day. 

“Besides,” Pitch says from Jack’s side, where he stands with Onyx. “There's no possible way that I’m going to leave Jack alone with you.”

North rounds on him with sparking eyes and bared teeth. These two seem incapable of civil discussion, Jack thinks and rolls his eyes. 

"So you trust me to help make treaties, but you don't trust me to spend time with my little brother?"

"Considering the way that you've treated your brother, no, I don't." They glare at one another with the heat of such intense dislike that Jack's almost afraid the air is going to combust.

"Just say it, North.” 

"I wanted to ask you about this betrothal," North says, looking down at Jack. "As I was trying to say before - I want to be sure that this is truly your desire. That you are not being forced into this."

"Not this time,” Jack says tightly. “How many times must you be told? It was my idea that initiated the betrothal. I want this. I want Pitch. I want peace between Umbra and all those of Selenan ancestry - Lunanovans and Umbrans and everyone else, too. Ben should be proud," Jack says with a brittle smile. "He's taught me so well about the value of political matches."

"But if it's just a political match-"

"Of _course_ it's not. I love Pitch. I love his daughter. They’re my family, and they care more for me than you ever did. Is there anything else, North? Because I really have no desire to bandy words about all day. We have a meeting to get to."

North's lips thin. "Perhaps we can talk again once we're settled in our new home. Everyone will have many questions for you."

"I'm sure I'll have plenty of questions for them, too," Jack says and follows Aleksis out onto the street. 

The snow has eased, and small flakes flurry in the dim morning light. Jack pauses to take deep, calming breaths. 

“I’m happy for you,” Aleksis says and Jack opens his eyes. He’s leaning against the wall, hands hidden beneath his cloak. The fur collar of Aleksis’s cloak is dark, and contrasts pleasantly against his pale skin. Once more the wish that he looked more like Aleksis rises in Jack, a little tickle of jealousy. A small smile is on Aleksis’s lips, and though there is sadness in his eyes the smile seems real enough. 

“You were with Pitch once,” Jack says. 

“More than once. But it was not like with the two of you. I can see Pitch’s desire for you, the way his heart answers yours. And I am happy for you both.”

Not that Jack knows him well, but he thinks that Aleksis is sincere in his well wishes. Jack nods his thanks. 

He doesn’t want to know, not really, but the he can’t help himself. “Did you never think you might wear a consort’s crown yourself?”

Aleksis grins. “I’d be lying if I said no. When I was younger, before I had experience the tribulations of leadership. That experience put me off the idea. No, the Selenans of Dun Doras are enough of a handful for me. You are very welcome to the vast responsibilities of a consort.”

The others step outside. Pitch and North are still giving each other baleful looks, but Onyx's diplomacy seems to have stopped - or at least delayed - all out violence.

Together they set off towards the hall. Purposefully Jack takes Pitch’s hand, and his lips twitch into a smile when North scowls.

The streets have been cleared, the snow pushed against the walls of the houses, as high as the windows and sometimes higher. Jack reaches up to the clouds with his magic and instantly knows that the snow will fall all day, though lightly.

Early as it is, there are few people on the streets, though a few glance curiously out of windows. The only noise comes from a man whose cart has a squeaky wheel, and the caw of a crow in the bare trees. It’s peaceful.

Inside the hall is a different matter. The instant they step into the entry, there is a rumble of chaos from inside the hall. Two of Aleksis’s mages are standing just inside the door to greet them.

“They are all here,” one of them says. “They’ve been here ten minutes or so and instantly started to disagree.”

“Of course they did,” Aleksis sighs.

He strides into the hall and yells out for quiet as he introduces them, and the noise is reduced to mumbling. Even so, Jack hears _moon god_ again and bites down on a sigh.

From their high seats, Jack looks out on their audience. The seating arrangements have changed. Samson is surrounded by men like himself: serious, angry, ever-present frowns. The woman who talked about the moon god is seated amongst people who have a crescent moon set prominently on their clothes or jewellery, and well-dressed, wealthy looking types are near Obol. They’ve found their people, divided into factions. Whether that is a good thing or not, Jack isn’t sure. 

Pitch looks out at the gathered people. “As promised, I have discussed things with my councillors, and have things to offer you. Firstly, Onyx will take her father’s place as warden a temporary measure, until a successor can be appointed-“

“Why her?” Asks an old woman, sitting near Samson and mirroring his folded arms. “Just because she’s his daughter?”

“Because she is my personal advisor, and I trust her more than any other. I know she will do a good job.”

“You thought her father would do a good job,” someone mutters.

“She was supposed to listen to us and bring you our complaints, but that never happened.”

“I came to Norkyle every month, and returned south with long lists that I gave to Pitch and his councillors,” says Onyx in a too-even voice. “But I was there to listen to everyone from the north – I couldn’t see everyone who wanted to be seen. Besides – Lord Tarr held court most days. You could always have taken your complaints to him.”

“Not if they were about him. You should have helped us, but you did nothing!”

“Now, that’s not true,” says one of Obol’s lackies. “ Lady Onyx helped me with the land quarrel I had with my neighbour. Everything was sorted, just as it should have been.”

“She helped us get money to fix the windows in our temple.” 

“Well _I_ didn't even get seen!” 

“Oh, well I did, for all the good that did me. Nothing has changed, not one thing!”

"I am the king's personal advisor," Onyx says. "I can't make him change his mind and I can't make his decisions for him."

"No, but you can be there,” Samson says, not bothering to stand. Everyone turns to look at him. “You say you came north every month, yet how long has it been since you came to hear our complaints?"

There’s a rare moment of silence as they wait on her answer. She’s in front of Jack and he can’t see her face, but her head bows. "Three months. My father kept ignoring my requests for a meeting, and then with the first attempted kidnapping of Jack, I was so busy-"

"Too busy to attend to your people? You are the Lady of the North! You have responsibilities - to _us_ , not to these southerners!"

"I do - but I have responsibilities to the king as well." Her voice is tight, and when she pauses, Jack hears her take in a deep, slow breath. "But you are right. I have been neglecting my duties. While I am acting as warden, I will hold court and listen. Anything I can resolve, I will; anything else, I will make sure reaches the king. You have my word."

The Selenans glance at each other. “We’ll see,” someone says, and that seems to be the prevailing mood. 

Yarrow stands and comes up to the dais, giving a smart bow. "If I may, your highness - if Lady Onyx is only a temporary warden, who will take Lord Tarr’s place?"

"I don't yet know," Pitch says. "I will begin to look for a new one immediately. If any of your own are interested in the position, you are welcome to make yourself known to me. In any case, I will make sure that whoever they are, they are aware of your needs and that they have a Selenan amongst their councillors. Again, if you know of any who might enjoy such a position, they are very welcome to make themselves known."

Yarrow pauses, and Jack is half expecting him to apply immediately, but instead he nods. “We will discuss it when we arrive back in Norkyle. I’m sure there are many of us who would be valuable councillors to the new warden.”

“Then let us talk about what my councillors and I have agreed; then we can talk about matters for the future. Now: the taxes. I have looked at our records, and I have looked at the papers that Yarrow gave to me yesterday. There are inconsistencies. Until this can be fully investigated, I am ordering that the taxes return to what they were a year ago." There is a rumble of approval around the room; lower taxes are something everyone can agree on. "Now, yesterday I mentioned that you could come before me and speak your needs directly. We have discussed this, and this will happen every two months. Remember, though, that you are always welcome to come to court in Iscadin, as is every Umbran. As Onyx said, you can bring your concerns to her as well."

There are more dissenting voices, others that agree, and Pitch lets the noise settle before he continues. “Now. One of the points that you made yesterday came up again and again: Jack as a courtesan.”

The ever-present grumbling reaches a crescendo.

“Yes – about how you only wanted him because he looks like the moon god!” Samson again - the man seems to have an opinion on everything. “A slap in the face to our culture and our beliefs.”

“I assure you that was never my intention, not for a moment.”

"Do you deny that one of the reasons you took Jack as your courtesan is his looks?

"I can't deny that; it's true. I was given a portrait by Benard, and I saw that he was beautiful."

"So you admit that the only reason you wanted him was because of his god-touched looks? That you just wished to make a mockery of that which we Selenans hold most dear?"

A slight pause; Jack hears Pitch exhale slowly. "Of course not. Jack was offered to me; I saw the portrait and found him attractive. Considering it was a Lunanovan who offered me the treaty, I thought - perhaps mistakenly - that it was acceptable. Securing peace was my only intention.”

There’s another ripple of noise in the room, but before it can crest, Pitch speaks again. 

"But I have an announcement to make regarding Jack." Pitch reaches over to take Jack's hand, and looking at him as if awaiting permission. Jack gives it with a nod, feeling nervousness collide with excitement. Will this be as well received as they hope, or will their reaction be more like North’s? "We have discussed it, he and I. What we mean to each other is undeniable, and that will not change, no matter what labels we give each other. And yet, he is my courtesan because of an agreement with Benard of Lunanoff, an agreement that I think we can all agree is void. So Jack is no longer my courtesan-" A roar of chatter that doesn't stop when Pitch holds his hand up for silence. Pitch doesn't bother to shout to make himself heard; instead he sits in silence, watching them. Various words come to Jack out of the chaos - _disgrace_ and _casting him aside_ \- but eventually it is Aleksis who bellows for silence, striding forward to glare at all of them.

"Whatever your grievances, this is your king! The least you can do is listen to him when he talks!"

The shouting dies down to occasional angry burbles, and Pitch waits still until he gets silence. "I said before that I would not have taken Jack as my consort because I believed that Queen Karine was still alive. Her death has recently been confirmed, and though I grieve, that doesn't mean that I love Jack any less. And so together, listening to your concerns and our own hearts, we have decided to marry and unite our peoples."

Another roar of noise. Aleksis's shoulders are square and he moves slightly to stand before the dais, to protect them from any attack. But none is forthcoming. In fact, most of the reaction seems to be positive. There are smiles, even claps of delight. The woman who works in the temple is talking excitedly to her fellows, and she's sitting close enough that Jack can hear her talking of a prophecy. Wonderful, he thinks. As if being 'god-touched' wasn't enough. Obol seems to be talking about supplying the wedding, and Jack feels his lips tilt in a half-smile.

With the room in a much-improved mood, Pitch turns the talk to other matters: those requests that can be met, those that are in progress. Those that are to be denied are followed with suggestions of how a similar outcome could be achieved. Once more Jack sees Pitch-the-diplomat, and just as with the Fintan ambassador things start to go his way. 

They start to discuss the Lunanovan exodus, and various of the Selenans offer their assistance. Money, tents, healers; in return, North promises that they will bring what he can down from Lunanoff. Art, carvings, clothes; all things that are part of their shared Selenan culture.

"And the books, of course," North says. "Again, much of our library was destroyed but we will be happy to bring back what we have - if in turn we can examine your libraries."

Pitch gazes at North. "And what would you be looking for?"

"Anything that addresses cleansing magic. The more knowledge we have, the more likely it is we will be successful."

"You are welcome to look, though is nothing in those books that hasn't already been tried."

"By your people, perhaps," North says, and earns a death-glare from Pitch. "Or perhaps there will be something in them that, combined with our own knowledge, could be the key to cleansing the tainted lands."

"That is noble of you, Prince North," Yarrow says. "I am sure that all of us here are happy to offer our own knowledge and libraries, however big or small they might be."

Approval passes over the crowd like a wave.

"Whether or not we ourselves would wish to move to Selena, we would be happy to assist our fellows in anyway we can," Obol says. “And I believe we traders would have much to offer you.”

“If you wish to trade, I’m sure we Lunanovans will be happy to do so,” North says. “We don’t have much thanks to Ben’s traitorous followers destroying much before they left. But whatever we have left in gold and gems, we will gladly trade for food and warm clothes.”

Obol glances at his fellows and then nods. “I am sure we will be able to help. Why, I have recently acquired an excellent supply on snow furs, something invaluable for those such as yourselves unaccustomed to the cold.”

They start to talk of prices, haggling right there in the middle of the meeting. Jack frowns, but Samson’s reaction is more visceral. He’s been quiet since the announcement of the betrothal, but now he gets to his feet and storms to the front of the room, setting himself between Yarrow and Aleksis.

"You talk about trade as though that will solve all of our problems," he cries, but the good humour in the room dulls the impact of his anger. 

"It can solve a great deal of problems," Obol says with a chuckle. "I trust a man a great deal more when I have some of his gold in my pocket."

His fellows nod and grin at each other; some of the others nod too.

"I want more than gold in order to trust someone." Samson glances up at Pitch before turning to the rest of the room. "And I don't want promises either - what good are words to me? I want action. I want my people safe! When people come to hear of Tarr and this Benard, they are going to think that all Selenans are traitors and madmen!"

"And when people see that I am betrothed to a Selenan; that I have made an agreement with Selenans to cleanse Umbran lands - they will see that Benard and Tarr are the exception rather than the rule,” says Pitch. “They will see, as I do, that Selenans are and always have been trustworthy, hardworking people."

There are a few cheers then, followed by a few more. Even Samson's shoulders soften a little.

Still, he shakes his head; it’s like his contradictory nature won’t let him rest even when he has the response he wants. "They're nice words, and maybe some will even pay mind to them and change their minds about us. But what about those who treat us as they always have - try to swindle us, refuse to deal with us?"

"Some things we already have laws against, and you should bring such matters to your councillors," Pitch starts, but Samson's words trample over his.

"And some are not, but we are still being treated unfairly! We are being treated as if we are lesser than you highborns.”

So he continues, and the good mood in the room starts to flicker. In moments, Jack is sure, the argument will start up again, the same as before. They don’t have time for this. 

Jack stands, but few people even look at him. Thinking of Pitch’s methods to command attention with his magic, Jack reaches out and freezes the moisture in the air near the ceiling. Snowflakes fall slowly down to the floor, the tables. It takes a few seconds before the northerners notice that it’s snowing in the room. There are a few confused expressions before someone says _ice mage!_ and then all eyes turn to Jack. 

Now that everyone is looking at him, sudden nervousness presses onto Jack. He licks his lips and forces himself to speak with anxiety lapping at him like little flames. “While we’re discussing this Ben is out there, scheming. I know that your needs here and now are important, but we can’t ignore him. He might be far away in Vonnya now, but make no mistake, he has not forgotten you. He was going to use me against you! He was going to use magic to force me to trick you-“ He voice breaks; he swallows and takes a deep breath before continuing, clenching his shaking hands. “He was going to force me to tell you that I was on his side. That you should be too. He hoped that because I’m a Lunanovan prince, because I look like the moon god, that you would follow me. You accuse Pitch of wanting me because I look like the moon god? Pitch _worships_ me, not as a god but as a man. If you want someone to hate, hate Ben. Pitch isn’t the enemy. Onyx isn’t either. Ben is. You say that Ben is going to make people think you’re untrustworthy? Prove them wrong by defeating him! Show them what it is to be Selenan!”

Silence descents as Jack runs out of words. Without having realised it, he has a hand clutched to his chest, over the scar-sigils, but it looks like it is a gesture of his sincerity. Perhaps it is, at that.

There are more cheers, from more people, and Jack stares out at them, half-astonished that he has a managed to rouse such a fire in them, that so many people are paying attention to his words.

He realises that Samson is staring up at him. Jack looks right back, uncowed. Big and intimidating as Samson is, Jack has faced Ben and Riann; Samson doesn’t scare him.

"And what will you do to show the masses what it is to be Selenan, Prince Jackson?"

"I will fight," Jack says, and ignores the way Pitch grips the arms of his chair so tightly that the wood creaks. "I will help the Lunanovans settle into their new home. I will listen to, and speak for, the Selenans as I promised I would. But I'll listen to everyone else, too. Anyone who is having difficulty being heard - I know what that's like. I'll help them-"

A sudden rush of cold air makes all of them glance at the doors. A young woman with brown skin and black hair has stepped into the hall, snowflakes a contrast against her hair and dark cloak. She glances at those gathered and then licks her lips nervously.

“Danne,” Aleksis says, going to her. “We are in a meeting-“

“I know, but this is urgent,” she says, and then goes up to the dais where she bows deeply to Pitch. “Your highness, I’ve received a message from the farspeakers of the north. Lord Tarr is in their custody.”

The rooms breaks into an uproar, and Aleksis’s demands for quiet do little good. Only when the room grows dark, shadows creeping over the windows and snuffing out candles, does the noise flicker into silence.

“Thank you,” Pitch says, and allows the thin daylight back into the room. “Danne, speak. Captain Flint is good, but how has he found Tarr so quickly?”

“That’s just it, your highness – he hasn’t. Lord Tarr has turned himself in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys. Thank you so much for sticking with me, and for all your support along the way - every kudos, comment, every note, every ask. 
> 
> And as ever, thank you so much to [Impextoo](impextoo.tumblr.com) for the steller beta job. Any errors remaining are mine alone.


	26. Chapter 26

Hardly peaceful before, the hall becomes a riot of movement and noise. 

Travel mages are summoned and the farspeakers communicate with their northern counterparts to arrange the transport of the king. Jack understands that normally preparations are done over a matter of days, or at least hours, but Pitch has demanded haste.

He is heading north immediately, taking Onyx and Alden with him. He hasn’t suggested that Jack goes with them, and Jack hasn’t asked. He’s had enough of politics for a while, and he doesn’t know what is going to happen to Tarr but he knows what happened to the men who tried to kidnap him. He never much liked the idea of torture, even less so now that he knows what it’s like. Onyx looks even more strained and pale, but she helps with the preparations without complaint.

The Selenans are scattered throughout the hall in their factions, some talking, few helping, most of them in the way of the scurrying mages who cast glares towards them as they are forced to sidestep and swerve.

Jack is trying to help, carrying jars of herbs and rolls of spell parchment. The activity helps him ignore the pounding of his heart and the racing of his thoughts. What can it mean, that Tarr has turned himself in? Was he close to being caught and thought that things would go better for him if he surrendered? Maybe the far north is too cold for him, or the allies he was hoping for didn’t emerge, as happened in Norkyle. Or perhaps it's something else, something that Jack's limited grasp of the situation doesn't allow him to grasp. But it seems too easy. Could it be a trap? Pitch must suspect that, but he's going anyway. He's gone through the shadows twice, returning with two of the kingsguard, his best and most loyal retainers. Several of the best guards that Dun Doras has to offer will be going with them as well. They stand at the side of the room in their heavy armour and watch the proceedings with a wary eye. The kingsguard have the black armour that Jack is used to seeing around the palace. The Dun Dorans have less intricate armour; the only decoration is a thin strip of silver at the edge of the plate. Plainer they may be, but their swords are as long and Jack doesn’t doubt that they’re just as sharp. 

Though Jack’s been in the presence of guards many times, both in Lunanoff and in Umbra, this feels different. Perhaps it’s because of why they’re here. Or perhaps it’s because the threat of war is thick in the air, a metallic tang. Whether it’s war to the north, with Tarr’s followers, or war to the south, with Ben’s, it is on its way.

“The evacuation must go forward,” North says, catching Jack’s attenion. He's talking to Pitch. Barely talking; on the verge of shouting. Both of them are glaring at each other, squared shoulders and leaning in, invading each others’ space. Though North is taller and broader than Pitch, Pitch remains completely uncowed. 

“Not until I return.”

“And when will that be? Days? Weeks? We might not even have _hours_ before the Dome fails!”

Despite the gruffness of his voice, there's desperation in it. Pitch must hear it too, for instead of snapping back, he runs a hand through his hair. His whole body is fraught with tension, but he nods.

“Very well,” he says, folding his arms. “Lady Ravus will arrive tomorrow morning. She's my warden of the east, and was coming to discuss how we could capture Tarr, but now it seems there's no need. Instead she will lead the evacuation procedures. Councillor Paman has the plans; he'll help with the organisation. Is that satisfactory?”

“Yes,” North says tightly. The next two words are spat out: “Thank you.”

“I can help too,” Jack says, coming forward. “I want to help.”

Pitch opens his mouth but then closes it looking at Jack for a silent moment.

“What do you propose?”

Having been expecting a denial or at least an argument, Jack is taken aback. The answer he had ready has suddenly escaped him. “I’m sure Paman will have some task that he can assign to me.”

Before Pitch can respond, Aleksis calls out, “We're almost ready, Pitch. If you want to go back to the palace, you should go now.”

Onyx comes over, her long robes swaying with her movements. Compared to her usual trousers, they look almost ceremonial. She gives Jack a scroll, hastily sealed with wax. “Jack, could you give this to Amber for me?”

“Of course,” Jack says, sliding the scroll into his belt.

“We’ve barely seen each other since you returned,” Onyx says with a weary smile. 

“Maybe I can come and see you in the north when this is all over.”

“I very much hope that I won’t be in the north when this is over.” Onyx says, and her smile grows a little stronger. 

Jack looks at her, the pale skin and dark circles under her eyes, the lines of worry etched into her skin. Her hopes for her sake - for all their sakes - that Tarr truly has surrendered with no ulterior motives or secret plans. 

“Wherever it is, I hope we see each other soon.”

She nods, and Pitch steps forward. 

“I’ll be back shortly,” he tells Onyx. “Have everything ready for when I return.”

Onyx bows, and Pitch takes Jack’s hand and leads him to the deep shadows at the end of the hall. 

Jack’s heart is pounding when they step into the shadow room, and his legs feel weak and unsteady. When they’re out in the corridor, where the thin morning light streams in through tall windows, Pitch looks at him with a worried glance. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Just - a moment.” Jack lifts a hand to the window sill to steady himself, stomach protesting the topsy-turvy sensation that shadow-travel brings with it. 

“Are you sure? I can carry you back to the rooms.”

Jack laughs and smiles up at Pitch, shaking his head. “I’m fine. Honestly.” He pushes himself up on still-shaky legs. “See?”

Pitch looks unimpressed, but he doesn’t make a fuss and Jack is grateful. 

Once in their rooms, Pitch leads him to his study. With a hand on his lower back, Pitch gently guides Jack to a seat near the large, dark wood desk. The curtains are drawn, so Pitch pulls them open before turning back to Jack and peering at him. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes. Shadow-travel always leaves me a little shaky, that’s all. But I can’t deny its usefulness. It’s even quicker than flying.”

A pause, and then a nod. Pitch pulls on a rope and Ivor appears, bowing to his king. On Pitch’s command he brings them water, and Jack drinks it down, diluting his dizziness. 

“Rest while I write a letter to Ravus,” Pitch says, and sits down at his desk. Upon its surface is a sheet of paper covered in some strange language and Jack squints down at it. He doesn’t even recognise the letters, never mind be able to read the words. Pitch puts it aside and takes a clean sheet of paper, picking up a black feather quill and dipping it in ink. 

As Pitch writes, Jack sips his water more slowly and watches the pen spill words onto the creamy parchment. By the time Pitch is putting his seal of black wax to the scroll, Jack has recuperated, save for a persistent thin shivering in his hands.

“So I can help with the evacuation?”

Pitch turns to him. “You truly want to help? Even after what they’ve done to you?”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Jack says with a shrug. “And I know what Ben’s like, and they’ve been through more than I have. It would be - callous, not to help.”

“Alright, then,” Pitch says, leaning against a wall. “What do you propose?”

“I can accompany the transports to the camp. Or - I know a little bit about healing. Not much, but I can bandage.”

“Help your sister, then.”

“Tooth?”

“She’ll be in the garrison, setting up a healing hall. But Worric goes with you.”

“The guard?” Jack shakes his head. “I don’t need a babysitter, Pitch.”

“No, but you are my betrothed. Just as I need a guard, so do you. It’s not a sign of weakness, or even a sign that I don’t trust the Lunanovans. I just want to make sure that you’re safe.”

“I know, but-” Jack looks down at his hands and tries to ignore tha tight bands of guilt and regretting around his ribs. “I don’t want anyone else to be hurt because of me.”

“Worric is a shadow mage,” Pitch says softly. “He can protect himself, and he can protect you as well.”

“Fine, I’ll have a guard. But I want to see Jamie, too.”

Pitch’s eyes glint and he sighs, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “If I say no, you’re going to go anyway, aren’t you?”

Jack gives a laugh borne of relief - whoever would have thought it would be that easy? It seems being consort rather than courtesan is making a difference. “Probably.”

“Fine. But be careful. And stay with Worric.”

Jack wants to argue, but he knows what a concession this is. Instead he nods. “Thank you,” he says, and leans across the desk to press his lips to Pitch’s. Pitch takes the opportunity to kiss Jack most thoroughly, leaving Jack breathless, his hands curled in Pitch’s robes.

Pitch sighs, kissing the tip of Jack’s nose and letting him sink back into his seat. “We still haven’t done anything to celebrate your birthday.”

“I’ve waited nineteen years for a decent birthday,” Jack says, taking Pitch’s hand and rubbing at the ink stains on his finger and thumb. “I can wait a few days more. Still. I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Not nearly so much as I do.” Unexpectedly, Pitch breaks into a mischievous grin. "Perhaps we should just run away - you, myself and Seraphina. No other worries; nothing else to concern us."

“Oh yes?” Jack smiles, a little enchanted by this rare, playful Pitch. “And where would we go?"

“I could take you to the beach. Somewhere warm. Perhaps the Sandman’s island. Just think, if just a small vial of dreamsand has such an effect, imagine what a whole beach could do.”

“I’d be more interested in the waking hours,” Jack says with a lascivious wink. Pitch chuckles but quickly grows serious, his expression almost wistful.

“When this is all over, I’ll take you on a holiday. A long holiday. I want to see you carefree and light of heart again - delighting in rain, in mountains and trees. I want to show you all the things you’ve never seen before and lighten your heart.”

“When this is all over,” Jack repeats, and it feels like a promise.

===

Jack’s not sure he’ll ever like riding a horse. Even when that horse is Jet. While she can fly, Worric’s piebald gelding cannot, and so he is earthbound and plodding, with little knowledge of what he’s doing. The few riding lessons he’s had were cut short when he found himself most distracted by the tightness of Pitch's trews. He spent more time on his back with Pitch on top of him and kissing him breathless than in the saddle. At least Jet is easy to ride, taking his clumsy seat without complaint.

Worric, it seems, is Jack’s new personal guard. Instinctively, Jack compares him to Kal, even though he knows it’s unfair. The scar on Worric’s face, too similar to Jack’s own, is a reminder of what happened to Kal. It hurts to see it. Maybe if they get to know each other, Jack will like him better, but for now all Jack can think of how much more quickly he would get to his destination alone. He thinks too of how, if Kal was here, at least they’d be having fun, telling stories or joking, instead of this awkward silence. Kal would grin at him, maybe race him - he’d probably win, too. 

The thoughts make Jack smile but they hurt, too, and he pushes his thoughts away from his friend and towards the north instead. 

“What do you think will happen to Tarr?” He asks Worric, who jerks to attention in his saddle. He looks over at Jack with wide eyes, and then they narrow in a frown.

“I’m not sure,” he says slowly, in a melodic, mellow voice. “Lord Tarr is a traitor. He tried to make others betray the king. But – well, I suppose it depends _why_ he did it. And what information he has to barter for his life.”

“His life?” Jack knows little of Umbran laws, but for all that he paid little attention in his history classes, he always listened with a gleeful horror to the more gruesome parts. And so he knows that the punishment for treachery in many places, in many times, has been execution. But surely that can’t happen here. Lord Tarr is Onyx’s father - surely that counts for something? Or perhaps it only makes the betrayal cut all the deeper.

Worric shrugs. “The usual sentence for a traitor is execution, but… I don’t know. I’ve worked as a palace guard for years, met Lord Tarr many times. It seems – unreal. All of this does. I can’t even imagine what the king and Lady Onyx are going through.”

“Are people often executed in Umbra?”

“No, not at all. It’s not happened when Pitch has been king. Once, years ago, when his mother was queen. An assassination attempt when she was pregnant with King Pitch - it horrified the whole country.”

“Who would do that?”

“The assassin refused to tell. Some thought he was from a crazed sect. Some suspected Cocor, but who knows?”

“It sounds like Umbra has always been a hotbed of political strife.”

Worric glances at him. “No offense, courtesan, but it sounds to me as if the same is true of Lunanoff.”

“Very true,” Jack says, and offers Worric a smile. It seems that news of their betrothal hasn’t carried far as of yet. Still, courtesan or consort, Jack prefers names to titles. “And call me Jack. Please.”

They approach the garrison, the same squat, stone building that Jack remembers. Unease stirs in him at the memory of why he was here that first time, but he brushes it away. Already soldiers stand outside, awaiting the injured. The healing hall will treat those who are well enough to travel. Those who are most grievously injured will be treated in a small encampment near the silver bridge, where healers from Dun Doras have offered their services. Those who can be moved more safely will come here.

One of the soldiers leads Jack and Worric inside, and after a maze of corridors, they come out into the wide space of the healing hall, a large room as spare and sparse as the rest of the garrison. Light spills through wide windows into a room filled with empty beds and a gaggle of healers. Tooth is amongst them, a flash of colour in the stone space.

“Jack! It’s so good to see you,” Tooth says, running up to him. Her wings are still bound so she walks. It's strange to see her like that. It makes her seem - vulnerable. Jack thinks how awful it was to have his own magic bound, and wonders if he should ask Pitch to unbind her.

Jack pauses, feeling odd having her so close. In many ways, she is the sibling he felt closest too. She looks at him now with sincere seeming worry in her eyes, her hands resting gently on his upper arms. Part of Jack longs to give in and reconcile, but always in the back of his mind is the knowledge that she let him be sent here. She did nothing to help him, then or after, and the old familiar hurt burns like embers in his chest.

“You were expecting me?”

“North came in before he returned to Lunanoff. He said that you wanted to help.” She smiles, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds on an overcast day. Despite his reservations, it warms Jack’s heart. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”

“I wanted to help. They’re my people.”

“I’m glad to hear that you still think of them that way.”

“They’ll be both Lunanovan and Umbran. Twice over my people.”

Whatever else they might say is interrupted as the injured start to trickle in. The first are those who can walk unaided, helping those who can’t.

Suddenly all business, Tooth turns to Worric. “Do you know anything of healing?”

“A little. But I’m supposed to be guarding Jack-.”

“You can do both. We’ll put Ana on this bed, and Jack can help me on the next. She needs her wounds cleaning and rebandaging,” she tells him, and waves Ana over. Tooth gives other orders, almost militarily efficient, but Jack is rooted to the floor, staring, as people he knows or recognises stream in. There is the woman who owned the bakery, whose dresses were so heavily embroidered that she looked like she was wearing tapestries. Now she wears a ragged slip with a bloody bandage around her head and half her earlobe hacked off. There’s one of the day watch who Jack shared jokes with; now his face is covered in burns and contorted into a mask of pain.

“Jack, help me with Pippa,” Tooth says, gesturing for him to follow her. He doesn’t want to. Such horror is creeping over him already and these are people he barely knows. Pippa is a friend, or near enough - she’s Jamie’s friend, but she was always nice to Jack, speaking to him if she saw him in the streets and always ready with a smile.

And now she is lying on a bed, her left arm ending in a bloody, bandaged stump. Her face is pale and beaded with sweat, though she manages a smile when she sees Jack.

“It’s been a while,” she says, her voice little more than a croak, but she gives him a trembling smile. Jack forces one of his own.

“It has. But it’s good to see you.”

Pippa glances down at the end of her arm, where her hand once was, and her smile spasms. 

“Now that I have access to better medicines you should start to heal in no time,” Tooth tells her. “But I need to clean the wound and change the dressing, alright? Jack, hold her hand.”

The bandage is rusty with dried blood, and though Tooth is careful, dampening the bandage and pulling gently, Pippa screams, her face scrunched up in agony. The scream is like nothing Jack’s heard before, and he never wants to hear it again. The pain when Pippa squeezes his hand is a welcome thing; it gives him something to concentrate on other than the horror.

“It was Riann,” Pippa gasps as Tooth carefully washes the stump and applies a salve. “She just - there wasn’t even a reason. She just - and then she laughed. She laughed!” Tears run down her pale cheeks, dripping off her chin.

Tooth shushes her and Jack manages to stay by her side until Tooth is done and gives her soothing herbs. But his head is spinning, his stomach churning. Riann did this - for no reason other than her own amusement. He shouldn’t be surprised, and he’s not, he’s _horrified_ -

“Jack, I think you better sit down,” Tooth tells him, and when he looks up to see her as a swaying blur of colour he thinks she might be right. He staggers over to the wall and slides down it, shivering, but he’s too warm, too warm. With his eyes squeezed shut he cools the air around him, careful to keep the magic pulled tight to him so that he doesn’t affect anyone else. Sucking in cold lungfuls of air helps fight off the panic. Riann isn’t here. She will pay for what she’s done. To him, to Pippa, to everyone. But for now, he is here, he is safe, and he should do what he can to help.

“J-Jack.” Worric’s voice. Jack lifts his head and sees Worric standing a foot or so away, shivering, a cup in his hand. “I g-got you some water.”

“Thank you.” Jack takes it from him but before he can even raise it to his lips, it’s frozen solid. The floor beneath him is frosted with ice, and Worric’s breath puffs out in white clouds, like Pitch’s on a cold day. 

Closing his eyes, Jack sinks into the stillness within and finds strength in it. He uses it to rebuild his control, like building a wall brick by brick. It’s a mixture of Isa’s knowledge and Jethryn’s teachings, and it takes more than a handful of breaths. But when he is done he feels not only more in control of his magic, but of himself. He feels the temperature around him return to normal. He thaws the water and takes a drink, and is startled when tiny icicles drop from his hair, shattering on the floor with delicate tinkling noises. 

He pushes to his feet by walking his hands up the wall and pauses until the room stops spinning. Determinedly, he moves with small, careful footsteps to where a man lies in bed, bandages over his throat. A healer is by his side, a pot of pungent green paste in her hand. 

“Let me help,” he says, and the Lunanovan smiles up at him.

“Thank you, my prince. You’ve done so much for us - you’ve saved us! Thank you, thank you.”

Jack pauses, not sure how to react to that. Work, he tells himself. Just work.

After that, determination turns to steel in his blood and fuses with his bones. Following Tooth’s barked orders, he does whatever his limited knowledge of healing allows. Stitching and bandaging, applying salves, washing wounds. Simple things that require all of his attention to make sure he does them right and doesn’t hurt these people any more than they already are.

By the time Tooth touches his shoulder he’s exhausted and it’s barely the afternoon.

“Come on, let’s take a break. Everything’s under control here, and it’d be nice to talk.”

A glance tells Jack that Worric is crushing herbs in a bowl, but he looks up to meet Jack’s gaze. 

“Is everything alright?

“I’m just taking a break,” Jack says, and Worric puts down the bowl. 

“Then I will, too.”

Jack tries to argue but Worric shakes his head. “I have orders from the king,” he reminds Jack. 

Jack tries not to sigh. 

Following Tooth’s example, Jack washes in a large bowl of fragrant water in the next room, though he feels far from clean even after he’s washed his hands three times. Now that he has nothing to concentrate on, his head is starting to spin again, the horror creeping over his skin. 

When they are clean, Tooth asks how he is feeling after being so close to fainting, ignoring his answer and fussing over him, checking his pulse, his eyes. Her fingers are soft and warm, and her touch is a tonic. Jack feels the worst of his reactions start to retreat. Tooth’s smile is easy and gentle as she cups his cheek.

“You are very brave, Jack.”

“It was nothing.”

“Yes, it was.”

She leads them into an anteroom where food has been laid out for them on a sideboard, and she pours Jack some soup before doing the same for Worric. 

“Please, don’t worry about me,” Worric says, but Tooth shakes her head and forces the bowl into his hands. 

“You worked hard, you should eat,” she says, and ignores his next round of objections by shoving a chunk of buttered bread into his mouth. 

She pours herself some soup and sits down on a rough wooden bench. Jack sits opposite her and Worric joins them, now that he has been bullied into eating. 

As she sips her soup, Tooth looks at Jack. Looks at him in a very particular way, like she’s expecting something. Too tired to guess what, Jack just asks, exasperated,

“What?”

“Don’t you have something to tell me?”

Jack looks at her. “I have half a year and more of somethings that I could tell you, but I assume you’re talking about one particular something.”

Rolling her eyes, Tooth says, “Your betrothal, Jack!”

Worric startles and stares at him - it’s not common knowledge yet - and Jack feels a blush creep over his cheeks. “How-” And then Jack realises. “North told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes!” She reaches across the table and squeezes his hands so tightly that Jack’s sure he’ll have bruises. “Oh, he raged about it - you know what North’s like. But tell me, just so that I can hear you and be certain. You’re happy about this - this is what you want?”

“With all my heart, yes.”

Tooth launches herself at him, right across the table, and even with her wings bound she still manages to do it gracefully. She ends up on the bench beside him, her arms tight around his neck. It’s the complete opposite to North’s reaction. This is how a sibling _should_ react to their brother’s betrothal to someone he loves. 

“I’m so happy for you,” she whispers, her eyelashes tickling his neck. “So, so happy for you.”

Another breath and Jack gives in, hugging her back. “Thank you.”

When she pulls away, her eyes are shining. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve this. And - I’m sorry I didn’t do more to help you.”

“What’s done is done,” Jack says, not quite willing to forgive, but he’s thawing. “It will be good for the Lunanovans, too - this will be a real alliance, not something that Ben has cooked up to further his own plans. And this time, it has my complete consent.”

“Oh, Jack,” Tooth says. “You mean it, don’t you? About an alliance. I would never have thought my little brother would be organising such things.”

“I suppose I've changed,” Jack says, feeling his cheeks burn as he dips his bread into the soup.

“I think it's more that we never gave you the chance to be who you truly are. Lunanoff was always a cage to you, Jack.”

Jack nods. It's nothing he's not thought himself a hundred times since coming here. But Tooth's words give it depth and meaning. It wasn't just the physical constraints of the dome that caged him. It was the shadow of his mother's death. The chokehold of expectation. And above all, the hand of his father, smothering all of his joy and denying him the love of his family.

Umbra is freedom. Pitch is love and acceptance; his friends are warmth he never knew could be his. Where then does his family and Lunanoff fit into this new life? Where does he fit into theirs? Jack doesn’t have the answers. It’s something they’ll have to work out together.

“So what now?”

“I'll watch over my patients,” Tooth says, sitting back and smoothing down her feathers. “And when they're all well enough to move into the camp, I'll go with them – If King Pitch gives me leave, of course.”

“I think he will. As long as everyone behaves themselves.”

“We're too exhausted to do otherwise,” Tooth says with a shrug of her slim, bright shoulders. “And too grateful. We knew it was a longshot when we came to the planet. We doubted that Pitch would say yes. And then when you were taken-” Her voice cracks and her pink lashes flutter like a wounded bird. “Oh, Jack. I was so afraid. We thought it must have been Ben, somehow, and we knew what he was capable of. To see you hale and whole-” She launches herself at him, and he finds himself hugging her back, instinctive as catching a falling glass. Tooth isn't one for deception. The fear and relief in her voice are real. 

Worric’s spoon clinking against his bowl makes Jack pull back, blushing. Tooth only smiles at him and returns to her own soup, seemingly satisfied that her relationship with her brother is on the mend. 

She’s right.

===

When they go to the stables, Worric heads towards his horse but Jack gestures at Jet, who looks at them with golden eyes.

“Why don’t you take her?”

Worric eyes her suspiciously, then puts a hand to her muzzle. She nudges him playfully. “The nightmare?”

“It’ll be quicker. That way we can fly.”

“Fly?” Worric pauses and turns to Jack, fighting down a grin. “I suppose it would be quicker.”

“See now, I knew there was a reason that you and Kal were friends.”

Once Worric is on her back, he rides her at a trot outside and then glances at Jack. 

“I’m not exactly sure how to make her fly.”

“You don’t need to know - she does.”

Jack leaps into the air and Jet follows with a whinny. Worric yelps, clutching at her neck. He eases his grip quickly and nudges her with his knee, making her fly higher. 

It takes a while for Worric to get used to flying, but he isn’t nervous or jittery. He seems to relish the challenge, whooping with joy when Jet takes him high above the garrison. Jack soars by his side. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of this; of the freedom and the pure joy of it. It makes his heart light and he can pretend, just for a little while, that all is right with the world. 

With Worric pointing out the way, they leave the garrison behind them and set out on their journey.

Blowing a break in the clouds, Jack rolls onto his back and gazes up at the moon, hanging full and ghostly in the afternoon sky. Once he called it home; in a few days’ time, it will be naught but a dead rock. All the grandeur of Lunanoff will crumble and decay, just like Selena, and its people will have nowhere to call home save for land lent by a benevolent Nightmare King.

But from down here, it will look the same. The same as it has since the time of King Jokul, of all his ancestors before him. It will look the same long after Jack is dead and dust. Never changing, yet changing all of their lives.

Jack summons a cold breeze to blow these thoughts away. It helps to blow away a little of his tiredness too. This is the first time he’s used his magic so much. It’s exhausting.

The further west they go, the stronger the winds get and it becomes a battle to control them, one Jack nearly loses at first. He wasn't expecting a fight. All other winds that he's felt have been playful and docile. This battles against him with a fury to match its power. More magic subdues it enough to carry him and Jet, though she tosses her head and stamps her shadow hooves uneasily. Worric pulls his cloak a little more tightly around him. He points and calls out, but the wind steals his words away. Jack comes closer.

“About ten miles,” Worric says, and he still needs to shout. “Can we go lower? I don't like this, and I don't think Jet does either.”

Jack nods and presses hard against the wind, making it lower them until they're below the treetops. Down amongst the trees its fury is dampened. The road below them winds through the trees, a brown ribbon, stamped free of snow by horse hooves and the sleighs of the groups who have already headed to the camp from the silver bridge. Three or four groups of Lunanovans, Jack was told, of about fifty per group. They'll have headed this way along with guards and Dun Dorans and other Selenans who have offered to help set up camp. The only ones left who know the magics of the bridge are acolytles and lesser priests; the rest are either dead or gone with Ben. The magics are difficult and draining, and so the bridge can only be opened for a short time, on a few occasions. From the silence of the road below, the transports are done for the day. Three or four groups, plus two injured groups – that's perhaps three quarters of the Lunanovans still up on the moon, with a dome that could fail at any moment. North has gone up there to help with the evacuation, and Bunny is up there still. A pang of concern for his siblings hammers in Jack's chest, surprising him. Of course he doesn't want them to die, but it's more than that. Tooth has shown him that things might yet be repaired between them; he wants that chance.

After a while, Worric tells him that they are close now, and Jack soars above the trees to get a better view. As soon as he is away from the shelter of the road, a gust of wind grabs him and flings him backwards before he can wrest control of it. Gritting his teeth, he presses against it. Reasserting control, he rises higher. It’s colder up here with the wind whipping his robe around his ankles, the cool air and his own magic painting rime frost on the hems

Jutting up in the distance are mountains, their white peaks scraping the sky. In the west, they lead to Selena; to the east, deeper into Umbra. They are part of the range he can see from the palace; they straddle the two countries, caring nothing for borders or tainted lands. Between the mountains and the forest, thinning out before him, lies a wide expanse of snowy plain, stretching out flat and mostly featureless. The river is out there somewhere, a mile or so away, frozen and as covered in snow as everything else. And upon the plain is the camp.

Forty or so squarish tents jut up like a miniature mountain range, a pale forgery of the real thing. Laid out in a rough grid, clear avenues are marked out between them. Beside it is a stone building – the border outpost, a squat building with one tall tower, a walkway all around meaning that a lookout can see in all directions.

Jack darts back down to the road and catches up to Worric, who is almost out of the forest now. 

When they break free of the trees, more details come into focus. Small bunches of the glowing mineral are strung up on stakes to provide light and mark out the main avenues of the camp. There is a surprising number of people out and about, wrapped thickly in furs. Some of them are putting up more tents or other kinds of work; others are standing around in groups, talking. One of them notices Jack and gasps, pointing up at him. They call out and others look too, even peeking out from tents before stepping outside to stare up at Jack. There are a few Umbran soldiers who must be from the outpost, helping to put up tents, and they join in the gawking. He pauses, the wind caressing his hair, and then lands. Jet lands beside him, and Worric looks around at the crowd uneasily. 

Jack glances around at the gathered people, who stare back at him with gratitude in their eyes. People with bruises and scars, dressed in rags and borrowed cloaks. Jack tries to picture them in their Lunanovan finery and fails. Or perhaps it’s not just their ragged appearance that is so odd. They’re looking up at him. Not just looking, but smiling. They never looked at Jack when he was their prince. Back in Lunanoff, Jack would have done anything for the attention and approval of the people. Now he's barely done anything and they're looking at him so adoringly. 

He wants to be angry or resentful - they’ve caused him so much grief and heartache over the years. But he is happy here in Umbra, with people he loves, with the comfort and safety of the palace. These people have lost everything, and are here in the land of an ancient enemy with no way of knowing what the future might hold. It is, he realises suddenly, what he felt when he first arrived in Umbra. This understanding makes a little of his his bitterness melt away, and he lets out a sigh, feeling lighter. 

“Thank you, Prince Jack,” one of them says, coming forward. He’s a man of middle years with a receding hairline and tired eyes. “You saved us. You’ve given us a new home.”

“Not me - Pitch. All you’ve heard about him being the Nightmare King, it’s not true. He’s a good man.”

"We know, my prince. Jamie said as much."

“Jamie did…?” Last time he spoke to Jamie, he'd been as sure as one could be that Pitch's Nightmare King reputation was deserved. What happened to change his mind? "Actually, that's who I wish to see," Jack says, regaining what he hopes is a princely demeanour. "Could you tell me where he is?"

"I do," a male voice says, and when she steps forward Jack breaks into a smile.

“Caleb!”

“Hello, Jack. It’s good to see you.”

Caleb is another of Jamie’s friends. His dark skin is free of scars; there are no bandages, and there’s nothing missing. He looks much as he did the last time Jack saw him. His clothes are plain, but then Caleb and his brother Claude always shared Jack’s view that clothes should be comfortable for running and jumping, no fancy stuff. He glances down at his own tunic, lightly embroidered with white and silver thread, comparatively austere compared to what he has been used to wearing of late. Things change, he supposes. 

Looking back up, he sees another change in Caleb’s shadowed eyes, and guesses at the cause. 

“I’m sorry about Pippa.”

“She’s alive. Better than a lot of people. We said we’d get married here, in the camp when she’s feeling better. The party might not be as fancy as it would’ve been in Lunanoff, but we’ll make do.” He gestures at the people around them. “You don’t know what it was like up there, Jack. Compared to that, after everything we’ve been through, this is paradise.”

Worric climbs off Jet’s back and looks around.

“Can you take us to Jamie?” Jack asks Caleb, who nods. 

“Of course.”

Leaving Jet at the entrance to the camp with one of the Umbran soldiers, they make their way through the maze of tents. More people smile at Jack; some even bow. Jack smiles back and thanks them if they offer gratitude. The path they’re on seems to be a main on, already stamped clear of snow. They turn left onto another, less-used path, and stop outside the end tent.

“Here we are,” Caleb says, and smiles at Jack. “He’ll be so glad to see you. You’ve no idea how much he’s missed you.”

“Actually, I think I do.”

Caleb rings a small, battered bell outside the entrance and leaves after Jack thanks him, promising they’ll catch up later.

From within, Jamie's muffled voice calls _yes?_ Jack grins at the sound of his voice, and his heart somersaults as he pushes the fabric flaps aside.

Jamie and a few older men are circled around a fire in the centre of the tent, in a square fire pit made of black stone. The smoke circles upwards and out through a hole in the ceiling of tent. Even with the hole it's cosy - magicked perhaps. The tent itself is utilitarian, black fabric without decoration, held up by dark wooden poles in each corner. The council sits on grey cushions - with Councillor Marek perched on a trunk, a bandaged leg stretched out before him and a crutch by his side.

As Jack steps inside he notices a few Lunanovan touches, ostentatious bursts of colour in the Umbran monochrome. A few paintings stacked against the wall of the tent, rich embroideries folded, the firelight glinting off their golden threads. Mementos of home or things to barter for more practical items.

When Jamie looks up to see Jack, his face lights up and he scrambles to his feet. Coming over to him, Jamie pulls him into a tight hug. “Jack! Thank the gods-” He appears to remember their audience, for he looks at the others, presenting a serious expression that keeps flickering into a grin. 

"Could you leave us?" Jamie asks with an air of authority that surprises Jack. He’s heard how Jamie has been a leader in Lunanoff but this is the first time he’s seen it. Jack steps inside to let the others out, and Worric moves to the side and watches with the mild suspicion of a good guard. The others shuffle out, but Councillor Marek nods to Jack.

"It is good to see you again, Prince Jack."

Jack nods, and accepts a few words of thanks or congratulations from the others, people he doesn't think he's even seen before, never mind been acknowledged by. Today is a very odd day.

Finally they're alone except for Worric, who, after being introduced, takes up the classic guard position of gazing into the middle distance and pretending to not pay attention to private matters happening right in front of him.

Jamie goes to give Jack another hug and then looks around warily. "Pitch isn't here, is he?" Jamie asks, looking around as though he expects Pitch to step out from the shadows. "I don't really like the idea of being choked again for touching his courtesan."

"No, just me and Worric-”

Jamie throws himself at Jack, arms tight around him. He's warm, like he always was; his hair is soft against Jack's cheek, like it always was. He's _Jamie_ , like he always was, like he always will be. Jack clutches him close, whispers, _I missed you, I missed you so much,_ as the illusion of distance disintegrates. _Me too_ , Jamie whispers, leaning their foreheads together, tangling his fingers with Jack's, just for a moment, before pulling away and giving Jack a smile threaded through with something that's not quite regret.

“Things have changed,” he says.

“Not everything. You're still my friend, and that's never going to change.”

Jamie's smile is bright then, and he looks away with a wash of colour splashed over his cheeks. “Never anything more than that though,” he says softly, the smile fading but not disappearing.

“No. But that's a lot. It is to me, anyway – it always was.”

“Yeah.”

The brightness comes back into Jamie's smile and they settle down on the cushions to talk. About Pitch and Seraphina; about Lunanoff and its faded glory. Serious things to be sure but they settle into their old camaraderie and comfort.

“So how come you’re not wearing the collar any more?” Jamie asks, and Jack touches his neck, suddenly aware of its bareness. A flash of memory, of Riann tearing it from him, is pushed aside forcefully. 

“It - it was Riann. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jamie nods and his jaw tightens. “I know too much about Riann these days.”

Jack nods. The thought of telling Jamie about the other reason he isn’t wearing a collar - the betrothal - flickers in his mind, but is quickly extinguished. He doesn’t want to tell him. Perhaps it’s that it’s so soon after Jamie’s melancholy about the change in their own relationship. No. It’s more complicated than that. But it’s something that can be dealt with later. 

“So,” Jack says, looking away and dropping his hand away from his bare neck. “Caleb mentioned that you were telling everyone how wonderful Pitch is.”

Jamie laughs. “Not quite. It’s just that- When you were kidnapped, I was so afraid for you. But it was nothing compares to how King Pitch was. He was devastated. He didn't sleep, barely ate. It seemed like every waking minute was dedicated to getting you back, even though he didn't even know who took you. I realised how much you meant to him."

"Really?"

"I mean - this is the man who did his best to kill me. I can't say I like him, and I'm not entirely sure I trust him. But I trust you. And I know he listens to what you say. That's why we're here, after all, and not up on Lunanoff."

“It was Pitch’s decision.”

“I know. I'm grateful. And if he makes you happy - then I’m happy for you.”

Jamie offers to show him around, and it's full dark when they step outside the tent, Worric trailing after them. The mineral-lights add almost a festive air to the camp. There _is_ almost a festive air, people walking between the tents, gossiping, with many glances and waves over at Jack and Jamie.

The snow is crisp underfoot and Jack reaches out to the sky, where thick banks of cloud block out the stars. It will snow again, but lightly. He says this to Jamie who pauses and then shakes his head.

"It's so odd to see you using your magic like this."

"Oh yes? Is it as scary as everyone always made out that it would be?"

Jamie laughs. "No. It seems natural. And you seem so much happier. It just with the magic. Just with - everything."

"I'm free here. Like I never was in Lunanoff. I have friends. I have Pitch."

"Yes. You do.” Jamie rubs his hands together for warmth and then looks up at Jack. “And you have me, too. Don’t forget me.”

“I could never forget you. And now we’re both here on the planet, we’ll be able to see each other.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, and then grins. “Do you think Pitch will allow me into the palace?”

“You never know. But the gardens are the fun bit anyway. But tell me about the camp. How are you finding it?"

“Mostly we're just relieved to be away from Lunanoff,” Jamie says. “Once that fades – well. We've lost a lot. But we can gain so much more. We’re going to try to reclaim Selena. If we manage to cleanse the land... Even if we don't, King Pitch has said that this land is ours. We can build homes, lives – but only if we're sure that we can never have Selena.”

“Do you think you can?”

“Bunny does, so I'm hopeful too. And the Umbrans have been helpful. A librarian from the palace came to the camp with a list of books that might help - although I think he might just have wanted to take a look at the books we brought with us. And a man from that town - Dun Dorall-”

“Dun Doras,” Jack corrects. “Was it Aleksis?”

“I think that was his name. Tall, strong. White hair and dark beard. He reminded me of you, a little bit.”

Jack decides to take that as a compliment. “What did he want?”

“He wanted to let us know that they’re willing to help with whatever we might need. Agricultural mages to help with the cleansing, books of spellcraft that might have some information - to be honest I’ve been blown away with how helpful everyone’s been.”

“If there’s anything I can do, I want to help too.”

Jamie looks at him. “Even after everything we’ve done to you?”

“Even after.”

They walk a little longer, and Jamie points out a communal mess tent, a tent for healing. Jack’s earlier thoughts about the camp being like a town weren’t so very far off the mark.

"And this is my family’s tent," Jamie says, lifting the flap. The golden lamplight filters out, but so too do soft sobs. Frowning, Jamie ducks inside and Jack follows to see Sophie sat on her mother's knee, hiding her face against her chest as she cries.

Jamie goes over to her, touching her back, letting her wrap her arms around his neck. With a start Jack realises that in their interactions Jack sees himself and Seraphina. With a pang he thinks of her, alone in the palace still inconsolable about her father's absence. Jack can't blame her; he's worried about him too. At least Ravus should be with her now.

"Look Sophie, Jack's here," Jamie says, and Sophie turns her shining eyes to him and -twists in Jamie's lap to give a gap-toothed smile to Jack.

"Jack!"

"Hello, Sophie," he says and crouches down at her side. She’s dressed in a nightdress, still brightly coloured though it’s torn and patched in places. "What's the matter?"

"She's not been sleeping well," her mother says, standing and smoothing her skirts before dropping a gentle hand to Sophie’s head. "Nightmares, every night."

Jack’s hand goes automatically to his necklace, to the vial of dreamsand. Instinctively he doesn’t want to give it up - this is a gift from Pitch. But he doesn’t need it right now; there’s the jar of dreamsand in his bedroom. Besides, who’s to say he’d even have nightmares? Sophie needs it more than he does. 

"I might be able to help there - but you have to promise to be very good," Jack says. "Can you do that?"

Sophie nods very seriously, and watches, wide-eyed, as Jack takes the vial of dreamsand from his necklace. He holds it up between finger and thumb. Firelight glints off the glass and makes the sand sparkle. 

“This is dreamsand,” Jack says, and glances up at her mother. “It makes sure that all your dreams will be good ones. I'll let you look after it for tonight, and then tomorrow I'll bring you one of your very own. How does that sound?"

She takes it from him and looks at it, the golden glow reflected in her eyes. “Pretty!” She smiles at Jack, kissing his cheek before running back to her mother, who takes her to a low mattress at the back of the tent and tucks her in.

With Sophie safely in bed, Jack and Jamie go back outside and continue their tour. 

“The Umbrans had put up all of this before we got here,” Jamie says, “Now we’re trying to get everything else done before the others arrive.”

They pause at the edge of the camp and watch as two Umbran soldiers work together with a group of Lunanovans to drive tall stakes into the ground. One of the Umbrans spies Worric and waves him over.

“Here, make yourself useful!”

Worric glances at Jack. 

“Don’t worry,” Jack says. “I won’t run away.”

Worric nods and hurries over to help with the stakes. 

"The wind blows in from Selena," Jamie says, that same wind whipping his hair back from his forehead. "So the soldiers say. They're putting up a barrier to break the wind, to stop it from blowing the tents over." It doesn’t surprise Jack; having felt the strength and temperament of that wind. Jamie shakes his head and gives Jack a smile, a little of his old self showing. "It's so amazing to feel the wind on my skin - even a wind so cold as this one."

“This wind is different,” Jack says. “It's – mean. Tough. It reminds me of some of North's friends,” he jokes, but Jamie just frowns at him, not understanding. “Different winds have different personalities. And I can feel them with my magic.”

“That's incredible.”

Jack shrugs. It is what it is.

Watching the people struggle to get the stake into the frozen ground, an idea comes to Jack. He said he wanted to help - here’s his chance. Jack goes to the nearest Umbran soldier, who straightens and salutes.

"Courtesan, is there something I can help you with?"

"This fence you’re making - how tall does it need to be? How long?"

"All along the side of the camp here - that's the part that will be most affected by the winds. The height of the stakes."

Jack nods. "Then let me." More carefully this time, he presses against the wind and has it lift him a few feet "Everyone move back," he calls, and grins at Jamies confused expression. Maybe this is showing off a little, but Jamie knows Jack enough to expect that.

Darting to the furthest stake, Jack reaches inside himself to his magic, to his borrowed memories, and combines the two to pull the moisture together and freeze it into an ice wall, taller than the tops of the tents. Flying along the line of stakes, the wall rises behind him. As he flies past those who were building he hears gasps and even applause. He continues on, still building, until the tents taper out. Then he flies back to Jamie, where quite the crowd has gathered.

Jamie starts the applause and Jack's heart leaps as it's quickly taken up by everyone else.

Acknowledgement and acceptance from the Lunanovans at long last. And all it took was the destruction of their home.

Jack smiles at them and bows. "Whatever else I am, I'm still your prince, and that means that I'm here to protect you. And-" He pauses as his head suddenly spins violently. He starts to sway and Jamie hurries over to him.

"Jack, are you alright?"

"Y-yes. Just - suddenly so _tired_ -"

The world goes black.

===

A circle of golden light, surrounded by chittering blackness. And Ben before him, smirking.

It's familiar. This has happened before. But Jack's sluggish thoughts can't make the connection.

"You're far more trouble than I ever expected you to be," Ben says "And more promising, too." He sighs and without warning grabs the front of Jack's tunic. Panic stirs the treacle of Jack’s thoughts, but though he scrabbles at Ben’s hands, he can’t get free. His struggling has no effect at all; he’s weak, and even when Ben slowly, slowly starts to unbutton Jack’s tunic, he can’t seem to pull away. 

One of Ben’s hands is enough to capture both of Jack’s wrists, and then Ben is pulling Jack’s tunic open, the too-hot fingers of his other hand trailing from Jack's collarbone to his belt and then back up. The touch is a hideous parody of intimacy and Jack renews his struggles, terror blanking his mind. 

“No,” he cries. He doesn't want Ben touching him, doesn’t want him looking at him, doesn’t want to be here- 

And then those fingers start to trace the scar-sigils and Jack whimpers. 

"If this had worked…” Ben starts, and then shakes his head. “But no matter. Even if you've thwarted me at every turn in Umbra, it doesn't matter. I have other plans, and when I am powerful - why, then, Jack - _then_ I will come for you." His eyes narrow and something flickers in them - anger, perhaps, but the smile remains. "I will let Riann have free rein with you."

"No," Jack gasps, and struggles weakly as fear sinks its teeth into him.

"No," Ben agrees. "First I will let Riann at your beloved Pitch, at all your beloved friends from Umbra and Lunanoff, and you will _watch_ ," he says, still with that mad smile. Jack feels fresh panic - but then it is quashed by anger, and it takes the edge off his sluggishness, enough to give him the strength to push Ben away from him.

"No! I won't let you hurt them!"

"Oh? And how will you stop me, Jack?"

"Like this." Ice spikes form in each hand and he moves to throw them at Ben - but Ben lunges forward, an uppercut hitting Jack under the jaw, smashing his teeth together, then two quick punches to the gut steal Jack's breath and he sinks to his knees gasping. The ice spikes clatter to the floor. Another kick sends him sprawling on his face, and before he can get up Ben grabs them in movements too quick for his age and drives them into Jack's hands, pinning him to the floor.

Jack screams, and screams louder when he pulls at the spikes but he can’t get free.

"I would have given you power, Jack. Not real power, of course. But instead you take my son from me, twisting his thoughts and making him even more useless than he was already. I will make you pay for that." Jack struggles for the strength and focus to fight back, but Ben put a knee to his lower back, leaning heavily on him.

"And I will take back my shadow princess. Travelling without her is annoyingly slow. I'll find an ice mage more tractable and freeze her again. Forever. She is mine, Jack. And so are you. But for now, perhaps you’d care to pass on a message for me. Tell your dear King Pitch that this isn’t over. Tarr is still mine - he’ll always be mine. And he’s not the only one. I am a tsar, and New Selena is only the beginning of my empire-” 

“You’re insane,” Jack whispers.

“Not at all. I have been planning this for a long time, Jack. I think I’ll keep you around to see it. We can have some fun while we wait. I'll order Riann to keep Pitch alive as long as she can - and she can keep people alive for a _very_ long time. Until they forget how to scream. Until they've screamed so long that they can't any more. I'll have her do that to Pitch. Cut bits off. Present them to you - remind you that it's all your fault-"

With a scream, Jack hits Ben with everything he has, ice spike and frost lightning, anger and fear slamming through the pain.

As Ben falls, the golden light winks out and the darkness consumes him.

===

Light. Breath. Warmth.

Jack gasps upright, frost lightning dancing over his hand, ready to defend himself as fear roars through him.

"Jack, it's alright," Jamie says, crossing the room. Furs draped over Jack. Too warm. He kicks them off and cools the air. He needs it cool, he needs to calm. To think. Jamie sits on a stool by Jack's makeshift bed and takes his hand. "Jack, it was a nightmare. That's all. You're okay, you just tired yourself out."

"It wasn't a nightmare. It was Ben." Jack’s eyes sweep the room, half-afraid he’ll see Ben or Riann. But there is only Jamie and Worric, both of them worried. 

"Of course you dreamt about him, after everything he did to you-"

"No! It wasn't a dream." Jack rubs his eyes with shaking hands. Jamie hands him a glass, more than half ice thanks to Jack's magic. "It was Ben. He had the Sandman. He - Ben must have done something with the dreamsand. Like Pitch did. But-" Jack grabs for a pendant that isn't there and frowns. If it _was_ a dream from Ben - did he know that Jack wasn’t wearing the dreamsand pendant? How?

"Then what happened?" Jamie asks, picking up the fur that Jack threw off and draping it over himself.

Jack tries to remember but it's already fragmenting. "He - threatened me. Pitch. Seraphina!" He pushes to his feet, staggers as his head spins again. Jamie gently pushes Jack back down to the bed and Jack’s too weak to fight him. 

“What did he say - tell me everything.” Jamie is completely serious, a frown creasing his brow. “If the dream was from Ben, there might have been something important.”

“He said… He was going to try and capture Seraphina.” Jack sits up again with panic sprinting through him, but Worric speaks. 

“She’s at the palace, Jack. She’s as safe as she could possibly be.”

“What else did he say?” Jamie asks.

“That - that he wants me back, too.” Jack gulps down some water. “And - he said that Lord Tarr is his. And that there are others working for him. That he wants to build an empire-”

“Lord Tarr?” Jamie asks, looking between Jack and Worrix. “That’s the traitor that King Pitch has gone to see, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes.”

“Jack, we have to get back to get a message to the king,” Worric says, coming forward. “If he doesn’t already know-”

“He might be in danger,” Jack finishes, and forces himself to his feet with a grimace. “We have to get back to the palace.”

“Dun Doras is closer.” 

Jack nods, and then turns to Jamie, who offers him a weak smile. “It looks like Ben is pulling us apart again.”

“But not for long,” Jack says, and hugs Jamie tightly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, though I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

“Just remember, we want to stop Ben, too. Anything you - or Pitch - needs from us, we’re here.”

Jack nods tightly and gives Jamie one last hug before following Worric out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you so much for the kudos and comments, for the notes on tumblr. They really are lifeblood for a writer, never doubt how much they mean *hearts* 
> 
> Oh and there has been some more [amazing fanart](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanworks-of-my-fic-what) on the [blog](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/), make sure you check it out :3
> 
> And of course, thank you so so much to [Impextoo](impextoo.tumblr.com) for the wonderful beta. Any mistakes remaining are mine alone.


	27. Chapter 27

It's still dark when they land at the edges of Dun Doras. The streets are empty and dusted with frost. Jack pauses and glances at Worric, whose breath is white clouds in the cold air.

"Do you know the town at all?" Jack asks, and Worric shakes his head. 

"I've been here a handful of times but only briefly, on my way to other places."

Possibly Jack could find Aleksis's house again, but he'd rather not risk accidentally intruding on a stranger's evening. 

Instead he heads to the travel circle hall, an unmissable black bulk against the moonlit sky. He pounds on the door, hoping to find someone within despite the lateness of the hour. Listening closely, he hears nothing, but the doors are thick and strong, not very amenable to eavesdropping. But then there is the sound of a key in the door, and Jack steps back. Belatedly, he wonders what he should say. Is the word of a courtesan going to be enough to summon the farspeakers and send a message to Pitch? The word of a consort would be, but their betrothal is not yet common knowledge. 

But as the doors swing open to reveal a young man, barely older than Jack, the way that his eyes widen as they take in Jack's pale hair, his blue eyes, reminds him that he has a very different kind of authority with some of the Selenans. 

"Prince - Courtesan Jackson," the man says breathlessly, and gives a jerk of a bow. "How - how can I serve you?"

"I need to speak to Pitch," Jack says, standing tall and projecting as much authority as he can muster. "So I would guess that I need to speak to Aleksis first."

Another awkward bow and then the man steps back and gestures them inside. He leads Jack and Worric to a small room off the side of the great hall that takes up the majority of the building, lit only by a crackling fire in the hearth.

"I'll get a messenger to Aleksis," he says. "And I'll get you some tea."

He's gone before Jack can decline or thank him, and instead he sinks into one of the overstuffed couches, gestures for Worric to do the same, but he shakes his head. 

"I'll remain standing, if you don't mind," he says, standing straighter and taking up his place by the door, ready to protect Jack if need be. 

Jack stares into the orange and gold of the flames. Now that he is here - what should he say? It would seem foolish to bother the king with a dream if Jack wasn't so certain that it was more than a mere dream. How to translate that surety into words though?

He doesn't have long to ponder, for in moments he hears the front door creak open and the boom of Aleksis's voice. The door to the room opens and Aleksis is revealed in the doorway, half-silhouette in the dim light both without and within. 

"Jack," he says, coming into the room, and glances at the man who opened the door for Jack, who is trailing after him with many more wide-eyed glances of Jack. “More light, Brell.”

Brell nods and with a blink, every candle and torch in the room magically flares to life. Jack blinks as his eyes adjust to the brightness. Aleksis throws off his fur-lined coat and drapes it over the back of a chair. He rolls up his shirt sleeves, showing off the strength of his forearms, and Jack is momentarily distracted by how pleasing they are to look at. But then Aleksis sits on the sofa beside him and sets serious eyes upon him; in turn, Jack's thoughts turn serious as well. 

"I'm sorry to call you out so late," Jack says, but Aleksis shakes his head. 

"Apologies are not needed. I know you well enough to be sure that you wouldn't do this lightly. What has happened?"

"I - had a dream," Jack says, and winces at his words. "A true dream, a message from Ben."

Aleksis sits up a little straighter, blue eyes narrowing. "From Benard? What did he say?"

"He said that Tarr was still his. That there were others, too, under his control. And - I know that Pitch will be careful. But still. I need him to know. I need to be sure that he's vigilant, and - I just wanted to pass the message on. So that if anything does happen-"

"I understand," Aleksis says, and looks up at Brell. "Call the travel mages, the farspeakers. We're going north."

He bows and leaves, and Jack turns to Aleksis. "I thought we'd just send a message through the farspeakers."

Aleksis's lips thin. "After what happened with Rikka, I remain wary of trusting such things to farspeakers - not to mention that Danne is still green. There is a possibility that her communications might be intercepted or overheard. I would rather speak directly to Pitch." 

"He could come here, through the shadows."

"He could, but the distance would exhaust him. In these uncertain times, I would prefer that Umbra's greatest shadow mage conserve his energy. It makes more sense to go north - if you’re willing."

Jack's eyes widen. "Me...?"

"I’ll accompany you, of course. And your guard as well. Preparations shouldn't take much time, as long as no-one's gone to bed yet."

The travel mages arrive quickly and get to work straightaway, seemingly unphased by the unplanned event. It makes sense, when Jack thinks about it. They must be ready at a moments notice, whenever Pitch decrees his wish to travel. Messages of their arrival are sent north, and the travel mages of Norkyle are summoned to their circle as well. Remembering Ben’s threat, Jack asks that messages be sent to the palace as well, to have the guard on Seraphina doubled.

Though all the preparations take less than half an hour, Jack's energy levels are flagging again by the time they are ready. Silently he berates himself for his foolishness in showing off like that, building the wall of ice in the Lunanovan camp - until he is more practiced, he should conserve his strength until he needs it. At the very least, he should bring his staff, his focus, with him. 

He sighs and shakes off the self-recrimination that settles over him like a heavy cloak and robs him of even more vitality. What happened, happened. He needs to learn his lessons and move on. For now, he should concentrate on telling Pitch what he knows. He can't deny that he feels a flourish of excitement at the thought of seeing the north, and of seeing Pitch again. Almost certainly he'll feel safer near Pitch, knowing that his king will protect him from anything that might happen. And in turn, Jack will do anything to protect Pitch, weakness and weariness be damned. 

"Alright," Aleksis says shortly, coming over to Jack and Worric, where they stand at the side of the room, out of the way of the mages. "We are ready. Are you?"

"Yes," Jack says, and glances up at Worric, who nods.

Two Dun Doran guards join them in the circle. The mages surround them, their chanting growing louder and louder. Slowly the outer circle flickers, once, twice, and then glows steadily. One by one the sigils glow white-blue, the light getting stronger with each passing moment, and Jack can feel the magic reach a crescendo. 

The travelling is as it always is - deeply uncomfortable, like he’s being yanked across hundreds of miles - which he is. Pressure on all sides, stolen breath, feeling stretched and squashed - and then blissful relief when it’s over.

They arrive on the other side, to a group of mages who seem more prepared than those of Dun Doras. Many of them wear ritual robes, jewellery and gems dripping from ears and fingers. All of their eyes linger on Jack and he looks away, uncomfortable with the intensity of their attention. Aleksis thanks his northern counterpart and explains their haste, and in moments they ready to depart, away from the whispers of _moon god_ that Jack could almost see behind their eyes. Each of the Dun Doran guards is given a torch that gives off thick, pungent smoke and then they step outside. 

The air is brisk, even for Jack, and he closes his eyes at the top of the steps and breathes in deep, feeling the edges of his exhaustion retreat. When he opens them again, Aleksis and the guards are waiting for him, not entirely patiently. 

He nods and Aleksis leads the way; Worric is beside Jack and the other guards flank them. It's dark outside, darker than Dun Doras. The moon here is covered by clouds, and the darkness is treacle-thick since there is little other light to break it. There are only a few lanterns afixed to the buildings that surround the travel hall, and they reveal only a foot or two of their facade. The torches that the guards carry wrap them in a small bubble of light that does little to reveal the street beyond. 

"Do you know much of Norkyle?" Jack asks Worric, who nods. 

"I’ve accompanied Lady Onyx a few times, and my aunt lives here. I used to stay with her during summer. The days are long then - and short now. The sun barely breeches the horizon - a little further north, it doesn't rise at all."

Jack looks around at the all-encompassing darkness - he doesn't doubt it. 

As Aleksis leads them deeper into the city, the night gets brighter. There are more lamps here, out in the streets and spilling out of the buildings. There are a more people around - nightwatchmen, peddlers hawking hot drinks and food to those who are making their way home after long days at work, or those out to share ale with friends or drink alone. The inns they pass are full, and shouts both angry and jubilant spill out into the street. 

Eventually they come to what must be a castle, though in the darkness, Jack can't make anything out about its shape. There is a large bridge over a moat, two guards on the street side of it, two more on the other side before a raised portcullis. 

"The king awaits us," Aleksis tells one of the guards, who nods. 

"He has commanded you to attend to him in the war chamber," the guard says, her voice muffled by her helmet. 

Aleksis nods and takes the lead again. Jack is grateful for his presence. Without him, Jack would have no idea what to say or where to go, and would look like a bumbling fool. 

They go through a small gatehouse and then step into a narrow courtyard, where snow is banked up against the walls. Aleksis leads them into a building across the way. Inside is a large stone entrance hall, stripped bare of any decoration other than a round metal chandelier above, dominating the space. They make their way up a broad set of stairs, cut from grey stone. Their steps are muffled by dark blue carpet. On the floor above, there are a few rugs, a few sets of armour in niches in the walls, but other than that once more the space is bare. It seems odd to Jack that someone as flamboyant as Tarr would live somewhere like this. 

At the end of a long corridor there are two more guards standing either side of a large wooden door. Jack recognises them as the kingsuard. They bow to him, and offer a comradely nod to Worric. Aleksis dismisses his guards and Worric stays outside with the kingsguard as he and Aleksis enter the room. 

It’s circular - a turret? - with a tall ceiling, and a bank of windows on one side of the room. The other is filled with a large hearth in which a fire burns low in the grate. Mostly, though, he sees Pitch, who strides toward him and pulls him into a tight hug. 

"Are you alright? The message from the farspeaker didn't tell me _anything_ , other than you were coming with great urgency."

"I'm alright," Jack says, leaning his head against his chest and sinking into the warmth of his embrace. 

"The urgency is my fault," Aleksis says. "I thought it best that we come to speak to you directly. Jack has a message for you."

Jack feels Pitch's breath in his hair for a moment, feels the hug tighten for a second, and then Pitch steps back and gestures at the circular table, where Onyx and Alden are waiting. Jack notices that the table has a map of the north scorched into its surface.

"Then let us talk."

Jack sits on Pitch's right side and looks over at Alden, whose hands are in his sleeves for warmth, his eyes attentive and alert. Onyx looks pale and tired, though her attire startles Jack. She wears a blue shawl, muted by the orange of the fire, but he's sure that it would be a bright azure in the light of day. It's the first time that he's seen her wearing colour. It's such a surprise that it takes him a moment to remember why he's there. 

“Jack,” Pitch prompts, and Jack’s gaze snaps to him. “What is your message?”

"I had a dream. I was in the Lunanovan encampment - I'd been using my magic to help them, and I - well, I exhausted myself. I collapsed-"

"Jack!" Pitch says, and reaches for his hand, but Jack shakes his head, offers him a small smile as he slots their fingers together. 

"I'm fine. I just overdid things. The thing is, I'd loaned my vial of dreamsand to Jamie's sister. She's been having nightmares. I thought I'd be going back to the palace to sleep, so I didn't think it would make any difference since we have dreamsand there. But when I collapsed, I dreamt. And it was - it wasn't a normal dream." He pauses, wondering how to put it, and then ploughs on - when it's something that might sound stupid, it's best to just get it out there as quickly as possible. "It was a message. From Ben." Pitch's hand tightens painfully around Jack's hand. 

Jack looks up at him and sees deep furrows in his brow, sees anger flash in his firelit eyes. "What did he do? Did he hurt you?"

"No. I mean - sort of, but it was just a dream."

"I'm going to kill him. I swear to you, Jack-"

"You're sure it was a message and not just a nightmare?" Alden asks, a sensible counterpoint to Pitch's rage. 

"Fairly sure. It was - odd. Clear, undreamlike. And the things he said - I’m almost certain that it was a message. I mean - the Sandman was his captive for who knows how long. I thought that maybe he’d done something to the dreamsand."

“You only touched on the uses of dreamsand, Pitch,” Aleksis says. “It’s more than possible that Benard found other uses for it.”

Pitch nods. "True. So what did he say?"

"He said - he said that Tarr had been working for him and was still his. That's the main reason I wanted to make sure you knew. Tarr could still be dangerous. Or maybe Ben can still hear whatever you say to him. I don't know. But I wanted to make sure that you were on your guard."

Alden and Pitch glance at each other; Onyx only looks down at the table, where her hands are clenched into fists. 

"We thought as much," Alden says. "Tarr said so, and he has - scars. Like yours."

"Like-" Jack's hand goes to his chest, where the phantom pain of the sigils dances. "Like mine?"

"The same spell family," Onyx says, her voice heavy with weariness. "It seems that it is an early version of the sigils that you bear."

"So he was forced to do what he did?"

Her smile is flat. "Some of it. We've not questioned him much about that. Or rather, Pitch hasn't. I..."

"Onyx has been speaking to Tarr's advisors," Pitch says. "She has started to ensure that the north will return to how it should be, while Alden and I have spoken to Tarr. Our questions have mostly been about his allies - about anyone else that we need to be wary of-"

"That's something else Ben talked about," Jack says. "He said that there were others. That - that we should be careful who we trust. I don't know if it was true. But - I wanted to make sure that you knew that, as well. That you shouldn't be too trusting of anyone." He bites his lip against the _I told you so_ that wants to escape. 

Pitch's jaw tightens. "His roots delve deeper into my country," he says, biting off the words. "The more I find out about him and his plans, the angrier I get. How long has he been doing this? And why, if his plan has been to take Vonnya all along?"

"I daresay that's far from the whole of his plan," Alden says and sighs. "In fact, it might only be the beginning of it. The ancient tsars were would-be emperors, after all."

"Then we shall stop it at the beginning," Pitch says decisively. "I have had enough of this man, of his plans and subterfuges. He's already killed so many in Lunanoff; I won’t let him do the same in Umbra. We will stop him. Now."

“There’s something else," Jack says slowly, unsure of whether he should say the rest; afraid of Pitch’s reaction. “He said that he wanted Seraphina back-” Pitch bolts upright, his eyes wide, but Jack grabs his hands. “I ordered the guard on her doubled, and Ravus is as protective of her as you are. She’ll be alright.”

Pitch stays on his feet for long moments, his whole frame tense, and then slowly sits.

“We will deal with Tarr tomorrow,” Pitch says, and out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees Onyx flinch. “And we will return to the palace the day after. The safety of my daughter comes first, and it isn’t like Tarr is going anywhere.”

“We will stop him,” Alden agrees. “But let us concentrate on that tomorrow, when we’re more clearheaded. For now, let us get some food and some rest. It’s been a long day for all of us.”

Pitch lets out a long sigh and nods. “Yes. Let’s rest while we can. It seems there are busy times ahead of us.”

===

At first Jack thinks it’s a dream. 

A cry - Pitch’s cry. It’s faint, as though from a great distance, but Jack instinctively knows that it is him. It is brimming over with terror and loss, and Jack needs to get to him, to help him. 

Though his heart races, Jack can’t move. He feels like he’s being smothered by the darkness that surrounds him, like the shadows are filling his lungs. 

_Calm down, calm down,_ he tells himself, the panic in his thoughts at odds with the content of them. He forces himself to breathe; this is just a dream.

And he opens his eyes. The room is dark, save for the weak glow of morning around the edge of the curtains. The room is in Norkyle castle; the bed is not their own. It is cold and strange, and it is disorienting to wake in it; but not nearly so strange as waking to see Pitch crying. 

He is sitting up, his face buried in his hands, but the muffled sobs are unmistakable. 

“Pitch,” Jack whispers, and pushes himself up, wrapping his arms around Pitch’s body. “What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

“It was a dream,” Pitch says and gives a broken laugh, wiping at his eyes. He gives Jack a smile that quivers and collapses. “The Nightmare King, brought low by a nightmare. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“No,” Jack says seriously, and hugs him tightly. “Was - was it just a dream, or...?”

“I think so. There was no message, no meaning. It was just-” The moment of silence stretches out and Jack bites his lip. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t remember all of it,” Pitch says softly, slowly, his words muffled by Jack’s hair. “At first - a maze. I couldn’t get out. Whichever path I chose was the wrong one. And then - then there were doors. I opened them and-” His breath hitches and his arms tighten painfully around Jack. “Inside - blood. And - Karine. Seraphina. You. Onyx, and Alden and Aleksis, all-”

“...dead?” 

“Not dead,” Pitch whispers. “That - that would have been better.”

Jack feels cold and doesn’t ask any more questions. 

“It wasn’t real,” he says, making his voice as soothing as he can. “I’m here. Onyx is just a few rooms away, Alden and Aleksis too. Seraphina is as safe as she can possibly be in the palace. You said it was just a dream, right?”

Pitch nods, but there’s no strength in it. His tears have stopped at least, and Jack holds him as his breathing calms. 

“The last door,” he says. “Through the last door was all of Iscadin in ruins.” His lips twist in a grimace of a smile. “My dreams are not subtle.”

“But they _are_ just dreams,” Jack says, pulling back to look up at Pitch. “You only dreamt about that because of everything that’s happening. Of course you’re feeling worried. We’ll get you a dreamsand pendant of your own when we get back to the palace.”

Pitch smiles faintly. “Isn’t this usually the other way around? You being upset and me comforting you?”

“Yes. And next time it’ll be neither of us upset. It’ll be time to live happily ever after.”

“Yes,” Pitch says. “I’d like that.” He pauses for a long moment, gazing at Jack with eyes that flash golden in the dim light. He lifts a hand to brush Jack’s hair out of his eyes, then cups his cheek. The warmth of his hand makes Jack feel safe, and they pause in this bubble, sharing a smile and a moment. But then Pitch sighs. “There's no point putting it off any longer. Let's get up and face the day.”

They wash and dress, and letters are delivered with their breakfast. Pitch frowns at the seal on one of them, and opens it first. The frown deepens as he reads. 

“Is everything alright?” Jack asks. 

“Councillor Lita has sent word that Sinar has dispatched an ambassador to Iscadin. He’ll be there in two days.” He casts the letter aside in disgust. “I’ve a mind to keep him waiting. Not even asking if they can dock in my port, never mind asking if I’m available to see him!”

“But you do need to see him,” Jack points out, and Pitch sighs, swirling the tea in his cup. 

“Yes. And I was intending to return south tomorrow in any case.”

There’s a knock at the door, and at Pitch’s invitation, Aleksis steps inside. 

“Good morning, Pitch. Sleep well?”

“Not at all. You?”

Aleksis shrugs. “I always sleep best in my own bed. Speaking of which: I was wondering if you’d like me to stay, or whether I should return to Dun Doras?”

Pitch is thoughtful as he sips his tea. “We’ll be returning tomorrow in any case, and I’d like someone else’s thoughts on how best to deal with Tarr. Alden and I have ideas, but we’d value your input.”

Aleksis’s face turns grave, but he nods. “Of course, Pitch. This is a terrible business. All the more terrible for Onyx, though.”

“Indeed,” Pitch says, and stares down at his tea. He doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Aleksis. The silence stretches long and uncomfortable, and Jack wishes he could think of something to say, but what _can_ he say? This is terrible, for all of them, and words seem too small, too meager to begin to describe it. 

“Have you spoken to her, Pitch?” Aleksis asks eventually, and Pitch glares up at him. 

“About what? About how the usual punishment for her father’s crimes would be execution? Or perhaps we could have a pleasant discussion about how I need to know everything that he knows, no matter what the cost? Do you think that she wants to hear that from me?”

“No. I think she needs you to be a loving cousin.”

Pitch’s lips thin and he looks away again. “And Umbra needs me to be a king. I’m not sure I can be both.”

Aleksis frowns, but he comes over to Pitch and squeezes his shoulder. There’s a moment of intimacy between them, of two men who know each other well, and in any other circumstances Jack might be jealous. Now, though, he’s thankful for Aleksis’s presence; he is dealing with this better than Jack ever could.

“Perhaps you could let Amber come to see her. She needs _someone_ , Pitch.”

“The Sinaran ambassador is visiting in a few days. I can’t spare Amber.”

Aleksis’s eyes widen. “The Sinaran ambassador?”

“Yes. Things are happening all at once, as they are wont to do. Perhaps it’s for the best that we don’t have long to think about them.”

Aleksis nods, and strokes his beard. “I think you should invite one of the Selenans to join you when you meet with him. It would be a good opportunity to show that you are serious about including them.”

“Are you offering your services, Aleksis?”

With a snort, Aleksis shakes his head. “Not me. I’m a soft southerner as well as a Selenan, remember? It should be one of the northerners. Yarrow, perhaps.”

“He would be a good choice,” muses Pitch. “That is one more thing for us to discuss with Alden. Would you like to join us, Jack?”

“Actually, I was thinking about speaking to Onyx,” Jack offers. Aleksis is right - someone needs to speak to her, and if Pitch won’t and Amber can’t, maybe Jack can help in some small way. He’s not sure what he can do, but he thinks of all the ways in which she’s helped him: taking him to climb trees when he needed to feel free, talking to him about Pitch when he needed to decide if he was going to stay on as courtesan. She came to support him when he took the simple, embroidered square of fabric to Alden in memory of Kal. She’s been there for him time and again; it’s the least he can do to try and help her now. 

“Thank you, Jack,” Pitch says, relief flaring in his eyes as he turns to him. “That would mean a lot to me, and to Onyx, too.”

When the others leave to speak with Alden, Worric comes to take Jack to Onyx’s room. 

On the way there, Jack tries to think of what to say, but the matter is so _huge_ that he doesn’t know where to begin. Trying to decide only makes neves skitter in his belly. Let her lead, he decides. Take it from there. 

Arriving at Onyx’s room, Jack raps on the door. When Onyx opens it, her eyes widen to see him. She's wearing another bright shawl - orange with bronze embroidery. It brings out the gold in her eyes, and it suits her, for all that it looks odd to see her adorned so brightly. 

"Jack? This is a surprise."

"Good morning," he says, and suddenly all of his words feel awkward. He forces them out anyway. "I - I was wondering if you wanted some company."

She pauses and then nods. "Alright. Thank you. Please, come in."

Worric waits outside while Jack goes in. As they enter, Jack’s surprised to see a room more comfortable than any other than Jack has seen in the north so far. The walls are covered with beautiful tapestries, the floor with plush rugs. There are dark wooden shelves against one wall, full of books. Early morning light filters in through the sheer silvery curtain that covers the small window. A sword and a jacket bedecked with medals hang near the window. Onyx's own, Jack wonders? There’s a small table near the fireplace, a sofa with a stack of books before it. This room must be hers - it has too much personality for a guest room.

Turning to Onyx, he offers her a smile, as warm as he can manage. "Is that something of Amber's?" He asks, gesturing at her shawl. 

She smiles, tired but true, and touches the beaded edge of it. "No, though Amber would be honoured that you thought so. It was my mother's. When I'm in the north... I like to wear something of hers. She died many years ago, but when I wear her shawls, it makes me feel close to her."

"I'm sorry," Jack says quickly. Speaking of his own mother is a surefire way to bring his siblings into a melancholy mood. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

"Oh, not at all," she says, shaking her head. "She was wonderful, Jack. When we go to our family gallery, on her birthday - my father always tells such lovely stories about her..." She trails off and her face falls. She blinks, hard, and takes in a deep, shaky breath. “I was so young when she died. He remembers so much more about her than I do.” She toys with her shawl again and then goes over to a sofa near the window. She sits down heavily, opens her mouth, and then closes it again and bows her head. 

Jack goes over and perches on the armrest. He tries to think of something to say. All he can come up with is something he’s heard said to his siblings. “It must have been hard, to lose her so young.”

She nods, and sighs. “Father tried so hard to make sure that I was alright. He did everything he could to make sure I remembered her, that I grieved for her, that I healed. I remember being so angry at him. The way that he would smile all the time, like he didn’t miss her at all. I think that was the start of - of my dislike of him. Oh Jack. What sort of daughter am I to dislike my own father?”

“I don’t like my own.” 

“He treated you terribly, though. You have reason for it. Me? My only reasons are selfishness - a child’s self-absorption that wouldn’t let me see how much my father was hurting, one I never grew out of. I knew how much he loved my mother. Of course he missed her. All of this - everything that’s happened - if I’d been more _understanding_ -”

“No,” Jack says firmly. “Don’t blame yourself. You were a child, dealing with your own grief.”

“I’m not a child any more.”

“No, but you and Tarr are so different. It’s alright to not like him.”

She’s quiet for her moments, either gathering her thoughts or fighting tears. Either way, Jack lets her have her silence, and goes over to the table, where a teapot rests. Gingerly testing it with his fingers, he finds that it’s still warm on the verge of hot, and pours them each a cup. When he hands one to her, Onyx gives him a grateful smile. 

“Thank you, Jack. Not just for the tea, but for giving me a chance to talk.”

“No need to thank me. You’ve helped me before, time and again. Now it’s my turn.” 

She smiles into her tea, but there’s more than a hint of sadness in it. “Do - do you mind if I talk a little more?”

“Of course not,” Jack says, and means it. He’s not very good at talking, but he can listen. 

“It’s just - I want to talk to Pitch about this. I want to ask for mercy. I know that what my father has done is inexcusable. That he - that he is a traitor. That he has done wrong to Umbra. But - if Benard bespelled him - if there are extenuating circumstances-”

"I got the idea that Pitch didn’t know what he was going to do. I mean... He didn't say either way. But it makes sense to me that if he was forced into it, there should be some regard for that.”

“I'm not expecting for him to be forgiven, of course not. But - if there’s a possibility of mercy. I don’t like my father very much, but he _is_ my father.” She pauses again and shakes her head. “But I’m worried that if I ask Pitch, he’ll see it as my taking Father’s side. I don’t want my father to die, but I don’t want to lose Pitch either.”

“Remember when you came to the Queen’s Cottage, to tell Pitch about your father? He said that he didn’t doubt you. He won’t doubt you now.”

“I wonder,” Onyx says, and then all of a sudden her calm crumbles and a sob escapes. She apologises again, wiping away stubborn tears that won’t stop. “I’m scared, Jack. I’m scared of Pitch looking at me and seeing the daughter of a traitor. I’m scared of having to look at Pitch and see the man who tortured and killed my father. I’m scared of losing both of them. I don’t know what to _do!”_

“I’ll speak to Pitch,” Jack promises. 

As he heads back to his room, led by Worric, Jack wonders how exactly he's going to persuade Pitch that he should take a merciful stance with Tarr. Jack isn't sure what punishment would be appropriate, only that he doesn't agree with torture and that he doesn't think that _anyone_ should be executed. But with Tarr - if he has the sigils as Jack does, then he was forced to do what he did. No matter how angry Pitch is, he must see that it is not just to punish someone for something they had no control over. 

Jack sighs. These thoughts are giving him a headache. 

"Do _you_ think that Lord Tarr should be executed?" Jack asks Worric, who looks at him warily. 

"I believe the king will make the right decision," he says, and Jack laughs. 

"You should have been a diplomat, Worric."

When Jack steps into the suite, Pitch is already there, sharing tea with Aleksis. They're sitting close at the small table, knees touching, and jealousy rears up in Jack. 

_First you're admiring Aleksis's arms, now you're jealous about him talking with Pitch. Make your mind up._

Jack closes the door a little too loudly and both of them look up. 

"How did it go?" Pitch asks.

"She's upset," Jack says, and walks over. Since there are only two chairs at the table, there’s nowhere for him to sit. He glances around, wondering whether or not to pull over one of the armchairs when Aleksis stands and gestures at the chair. 

"Please Jack, sit. I'll be leaving shortly."

"I can't change your mind?" Pitch asks him, folding his arms, but Aleksis shakes his head. 

"You know that I have a great - distaste - for dungeons."

"We're not going to be torturing him," Pitch says, and Jack's surprised at how relieved that makes him feel. 

"Still," Aleksis says, and his voice is adamant. "I'd rather not. Besides, this would be a good time for me to see Thea. it's too rare that we get to talk in person."

A small smile tugs at Pitch's lips, and the tinge of fondness stokes Jack's jealousy. "Yes, and it's well known that all chief journey mages are insufferable gossips. Go, Aleksis. Enjoy your day."

After bowing slightly to Pitch - and to Jack - Aleksis leaves, his footsteps echoing in this bare castle. 

Jack looks at Pitch, who is frowning again, and touches his forehead as though he could smooth the frown away. Shockingly, it works, and the smile returns to Pitch's lips. 

"Despite the reason you came, I'm still glad you're here. Tell me more about your visit to Onyx."

"She's worried about what you're going to do to Tarr. She's worried about what you'll think of her. And - she's _lonely_ , Pitch. Are you sure Amber can't come and see her?"

"Perhaps after the Sinarans visit. I'm not doing this to be cruel."

"I know. But-" But it is still cruel, and from the conflict in Pitch's eyes, he knows this. 

"I'll speak to Tarr, and perhaps after I'll speak to her. I can put her mind to rest about my opinion of her at least. I trust and respect her - she's like a sister to me. That's never going to change."

"And Tarr? What will happen to him?"

Pitch's expression darkens. "That remains to be seen. Let us see what he has to say for himself first."

"Let me come," Jack says, an idea coming to him. "He shares marks like mine. What was done to him was what Ben intended for me. I'd like to hear what he has to say."

Pitch gazes at him for a long moment, and eventually nods. "As you wish."

Shortly after, they're following the kingsguard down the strangely bare corridors of Norkyle Castle. Jack notices railings near the ceiling where tapestries might have hung. He remembers the ones that Tarr brought to the palace with him, with his sigil of a bird with its wings outstretched. That would explain why they've been taken down. It leaves the castle looking unfinished, or as if a tenant has recently vacated. Which is about the jist of it, Jack thinks. 

They walk in silence. Jack doesn't want to break it, though a thousand questions burn in his brain. He is the outsider here, and has the least responsibility. It's not his place to upset king and councillor. 

Yesterday before Jack arrived, they had questioned Tarr. No torture, to Jack's relief. About his allies, his plans, what he had put into place that might affect the north and Umbra as a whole. Practical questions needing urgent answers. Now, they will question him about the past. When and how did Ben get involved? And perhaps most importantly, _why_ did Tarr do all he has done? 

They take a left turn, and come to heavy doors and two guards standing before them. These must be northern guards, for their armour is heavy and plain, with furs beneath to ward off the cold. The guards bow to their king and step aside, opening the doors to let them pass. They continue on their journey down a spiral staircase, made of heavy stone and lit mostly by torchlight. The only daylight comes from thin slits in the wall, for archers to aim through in times of attack. It makes Jack wonder why Tarr didn't stay here, instead of running to the far north. A hundred people could easily hold this castle with its thick cold walls and protective moat. If they had supplies enough they could stay here indefinitely.

As they get further down the staircase, even the slivers of daylight from the arrowslits cease and the air stills and becomes stagnant. They are below the ground, and Jack's head starts to throb. They are heading into the dungeon. He has seen enough of dungeons for a lifetime and though this time he is no prisoner this time, it makes little difference to his racing heart.

Still, he continues. Tarr is what Jack could have been - what Ben could have made him, had the spell-sigils worked. Onyx even said that the spells upon them were from the same family. In a strange way, that has created a bond between them. They're both victims of Ben's machinations. Jack glances at Pitch and Alden, and realises that it's true of all of them. They've all suffered losses because of Ben. An impotent anger rises in Jack like a crackling fire, but it quickly peters out and is overcome by the thrum of anxiety as they head deeper into the bowels of the castle. Much as Jack knows he is in Umbra, safe and far from Ben, his breathing shallows as he resolutely refuses to remember. He might not acknowledge it consciously but his body is going into panic mode as though he might see Riann around every corner.

One hand goes to his pocket, to the crystal and the comfort it brings. Again he is reminded of the similarity to Nightlight's magic and Jack misses him with a pang as the panic fades. And then he notices the tightness in Pitch’s shoulders, the clenched hands. This is hard for Pitch too, and he doesn’t have a spelled crystal to help him. Jack reaches for one of those clenched hands and pulls the fingers free, one by one. It’s almost a game, and by the time their fingers are slotted together, Pitch manages to summon a small smile. The touch comforts them both, as it should, though as they approach the cells Jack's fear ratchets up again. He holds the crystal so tightly that the edges dig into his fingers painfully, but he doesn't slow his step. For Onyx. For Pitch. For himself.

The low-ceilinged hallway opens up into a wider space, and there, before them, are cells. Barred doors reveal that there is only one occupant: Lord Tarr. He's huddled in the corner of the cell, swathed in shadows and covered in a fur blanket. He's tapping the floor with a finger, _tap tap tap_ echoing around the room. There's another sound too, a whispering, but Jack can't make out the words, if there are any. All he can make out are susurrant syllables that slow and then stutter out like an extinguished candle. Tarr looks up, the torchlight making tiny fires dance in his eyes. 

He stares at each of them for long moments, lingering on Jack, then gives a faded and twisted version of his old smile. 

"Welcome to the north, Jack. It's good to see that you've finally made it. How are you finding it so far?"

Jack raises an eyebrow. "I’ve not had chance to see much of it. Considering everything that's happening, there's not much time for sightseeing."

"No," Tarr says sadly. "I don't suppose there is." He stands, the blanket dropping away, and comes up to the bars. He's lost weight. The hollows of his cheeks are readily visible under the thick scruff of his beard. He looks at Jack with mournful eyes. "I never meant for him to hurt you, Jack. I never-" He shakes his head. "I never did."

A question burns behind Jack’s teeth, but a few silent breaths pass before he can force it out. "Did you help him capture me?"

"No. There's someone in the palace. Like me. Marked. Controlled." He stops abruptly and steps away from the bars, doubling up and crying out as if in pain, though there's no obvious cause. Without thinking Jack's hand goes to his sigil-scars. Yes. He knows that pain, only too well. 

“And were they involved in the first kidnap attempt?” Alden asks, his voice strangely high pitched. When Jack looks at him he sees a controlled expression but fire burns in his eyes. 

_Kal,_ Jack thinks, with the same breathless punch of loss that he always feels when he thinks of him, and turns his attention to Tarr’s answer. 

“Yes. All of it was down to them, though it’s possible that they don’t even know it. They were marked long after I was, after Benard had time to perfect this foul magic.”

“And you have no idea who they are?”

"No matter how many times you ask me that, I still don't know. All I know is that they are not doing it of their own free will. Benard mentioned how annoyed he was that your people are so loyal to you." He snorts with dark amusement. "If only he'd remembered that before he forced me to rise up against you."

"You're still insisting that it was against your wishes?"

Tarr laughs then, and there's a tinge of madness in it. "My wishes? My wishes haven't mattered in a long time, Pitch. Yes, it was against my wishes. I knew it wouldn't work. Perhaps if he'd given me more time - I do have people loyal to me, you know. It's just that they're more loyal to you. Despite everything - despite my expectations - you've been a good king. I wish that things could have been different. But I made my choice long before your coronation."

"What choice?"

"The choice to betray your father, if you want to be dramatic about it. After my wife died, I hated him, more than I thought I could hate anyone. It was his fault! Strata wasn't that ill - nowhere near as ill as your mother. If he had set his healers to concentrate on her instead of the doomed queen - but no. No! He let Strata die and then your mother died anyway! And after that - did he really _expect_ my loyalty?"

"Lady Strata died from the grey plague," Alden says, shaking his head. "Only five in a hundred survived once they became ill."

"And Strata might have been one of them!" Tears roll down Tarr's face and he grips the bars so tightly that his knuckles are white. "But she died! She died - and part of me died with her. I kept a brave face for Onyx's sake. I was all she had and I tried to do the best for her, but my last thought every night was how much I wanted revenge on your father."

There's a long pause as Tarr sobs, and Jack glances up at Pitch. His expression is cold and hard, as unmoved by Tarr’s tears as a shadow. "So you hated my father. That’s why you betrayed him."

"Like I've never hated anyone. Apart from Benard, perhaps, but that came later. He came to me, you know. Shortly after Strata died. He came to me with promises of helping me seek my vengeance. At first, all he wanted was to hear the details of your father's meetings - what he said about the Lunanovans, that sort of thing. And he said when the time was right, when he had the information he needed, vengeance would be mine. He didn't explain at first how this was going to happen. Back then, I would have been happy to run your father through myself. I even considered killing you, too - getting you out of the way so that Onyx would be queen. But - you were so small. And Strata loved you so much..." Tarr trails off, his face twisted in sorrow. 

Jack stares at him. He had felt something of a kinship to Tarr, feeling that they both had been marked and Ben, both of them victims of Ben’s ambition. But Tarr betrayed Umbra without Ben’s help, and Jack feels his sympathy start to dissolve. 

Pitch's lip curls in a snarl, and Jack can feel the tension in his body. "How touching."

"Hardly," Tarr says and shakes his head. "The thought crossed my mind more than once. Or of killing you and letting your father live, so that I could revel in his grief. I’d kill him eventually of course, and then my Onyx would be queen, with me by her side, guiding her - it was a very tempting image. I mentioned it to Benard once, and he found it intriguing as well. Now, I know that if that had happened, he would have used us both. He might even have marked her as he did me-"

"When did he mark you?"

"When I started to question him. He didn't like that, not at all. He wanted a puppet who would do everything he wanted - so that's what he made me. A puppet on strings, ready to dance whenever he wanted, and always terrified of what he would make me do."

"You should have come forward earlier," Alden says. "There might have been something we could have done-"

"Oh yes, like killed me. I'm afraid I didn't like the sound of that, dear Alden. In any case, Benard wouldn’t let me. All I could do was what he wanted of me, and hope that somehow everything would turn out right. But I didn't want - he made me do the things I did. The carriage-"

Everything goes black. Instantly. Unnatural fear floods into Jack, suffocating, and he wants to scream- 

But then it eases and light returns to the world little by little. Jack can feel Pitch shaking by his side, and he steps forward. "Karine- and Seraphina-"

"I didn't want to! But he made me - he had plans - I don't know what."

The shadows surge towards the cell, into Tarr, and he hits the far wall with a thud and an _oof_. They hold him there, a few feet off the ground. His legs kick uselessly at the air. 

"My wife is dead because of you!" Pitch screams, and a shadows wraps around Tarr’s throat like a vine. 

"Pitch," Alden says, but Pitch bats his hands away, intent on Tarr who jerks as the shadows choke the life out of him. 

Perhaps Tarr deserves this. He's responsible for Karine's death, Seraphina's capture. He had a hand in Kal’s death and Jack's own capture even if he wasn't directly responsible. But he was forced into it, like Ben tried to force Jack himself. And Onyx - Jack thinks of her tears and turns to Pitch.

"Stop," Jack says, pulling the stagnant air into a breeze that he can ride, and it lifts him high enough to look Pitch directly in the face. Pitch tries to push him away, but Jack only puts more pressure on the wind to keep him where he is. He lowers the temperature around them and puts his hands on Pitch's shoulders, spilling ice over him. "Pitch, _stop_. This isn’t right. I know you’re hurting, I know that you want to hurt _someone_ for taking them away from you. But Ben is the one responsible.”

Pitch frowns, the mindless rage in his eyes softening, but he doesn’t let Tarr go. The terrible gurgle of Tarr’s strangled breath fills Jack’s ears and the ice spreading beneath his fingers creaks as his grip tightens on Pitch.

“Don’t do this. Whatever else Tarr did, this wasn’t his fault. Ben forced him to do this. Like he tried to force me to do things. If he had - would you be so quick to try and kill me? Do you think that I'd deserve to die?"

Pitch looks up at him and there's such pain in his eyes that Jack aches for him. "No," he says in a broken voice. "No." There's a thud as Tarr falls to the floor, wheezing, and Jack wraps his arms around Pitch. 

"I'm so sorry," he says as Pitch holds him back, tightly, burying his face in his hair. Jack can feel his back heave with silent sobs, feel the warmth of his tears on his scalp. 

"You said that Benard wouldn’t let you come to us. What changed? How - _why_ \- did you turn yourself in?" Alden asks, and Tarr answers with a rasp, barely discernible. 

"Because I knew what it would do to Onyx - and I knew what people would think of her. She would never be trusted - the life that she's worked so hard to build would be over. Because of me. I couldn't allow that. She’s all I have, and I couldn’t let that happen, spell or no spell."

"Perhaps you should have thought of her sooner, instead of thinking only of yourself," Alden says, and touches Pitch's arm. "Your highness, let's go. He can rot in here until we need to question him again."

They head back upstairs, and Alden leaves them to have a little time alone, saying that he'll tell the others what they've learned. 

===

The grounds of the northern castle are still shrouded in grey shadows. 

It's barely even the afternoon, and it's already slipping into night. The lack of daylight makes Jack feel claustrophobic. As someone aligned with the magic of winter, it’s something of a surprise, but he longs to go back to the south, to the crisp clear days. 

Leaning on the wall of the balcony, Jack stares out at what little he can see of the grounds. They're not neatly ordered, as are the royal residences; nor are they wild and ripe for exploration like the palace. Here things are unkempt, filled with a wildness that promises danger, not adventure. Thick tangles of vines with wicked-looking thorns that Jack can see even from the second storey; rocks with slippery surfaces and sharp edges. The fog that crouches low to the ground is almost like a defence mechanism, hiding its secrets. Jack could summon a wind to blow it all away, but the wind is different here too. Not as strong or stubborn as that near to Selena, but distant and detached. It seems to have no interest in Jack, and he finds misses the friendliness of the wind of the south. 

Still, he is here now, and Pitch is just inside, brooding. After that display of anger toward Tarr, Jack finds himself reluctant to face Pitch. He fears Pitch’s rage. Though it’s only been directed at him once, that was enough. Does it make him a coward, to feel like this? To stand out here thinking of himself when Pitch needs him? Yet he can’t convince himself to shrug the matter off. 

Jack glances over his shoulder at the balcony doors. They’re heavy wood, to keep out the northern cold, but Jack is sure that Pitch hasn’t moved and is staring into the fire still. Standing and sucking in a deep, calming breath of cold air, Jack pushes open the balcony doors and steps back inside. 

While the dim cold greyness of outside is vast and lonely; inside the darkness and crackling orange fire make it too warm, too close. It’s claustrophobic still, cloying. Thinning his lips, he pulls the door shut and walks towards Pitch where he sits silhouetted by the fire. 

Jack takes the armchair beside him and pulls his knees into his chest, glancing at Pitch out of the corner of his eye and trying to judge his mood. Should he mention his fears? Is this the right time? Perhaps not, but when will be? They need to talk about this. He shouldn’t feel like this with the man he loves, whom he is betrothed to. He opens his mouth to mention it, and then closes it again. No. Pitch has troubles of his own; he doesn’t need to bear Jack’s as well. It can wait. 

But then Pitch looks away from the fire and towards Jack. 

“I know that look,” he says. “You’re thinking something, but you’re deciding that it isn’t important enough to mention, because it’s _your_ worry. You always look so - sad. Resigned. As if you’re used to people dismissing your words. But I would like to hear, Jack, and to help if I can.”

Jack bites his lip and edges carefully. “You have so much to think about already. I don’t want to burden you with more problems.”

Pitch gives him a weak smile leached of humour. “I do have many problems, and most of them are far too big for me to do anything about. If there’s something that I can actually do to help, it will at least make me feel that I’ve accomplished something.”

“I was just thinking… Of before, when my family first came through the silver bridge. Of how, when I went to meet them - of how you reacted.”

Pitch stiffens; and then he nods. “The completely inappropriate way I reacted, you mean.”

“Well - yes. You treated me like a child, Pitch. You almost killed Jamie, just because he was touching me. You-” Jack looks away, stomach tensing as he remembers that night, and the words spill out of him. “You threatened to bind my magic! Even though you knew how important it was to me, even though you knew it meant _everything_ to me. And just now - I was thinking about coming back into the room, but I hesitated, because I was afraid that you might still be angry. It shouldn’t be like that. I shouldn’t be afraid of you.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Pitch says, and his voice wavers. He looks horrified, and he reaches over to take Jack’s hands. “I will never do anything like that to you again. You have my promise. I know that doesn’t mean much but…”

“Freezing you seemed to help,” Jack says with a weak smile, and gets one in return. 

“Then you are welcome to do it again. And you are also welcome to remind me that I should treat you the same way that I treated Karine - with love and respect. You are my equal, and if I need reminding of that - why, you have a whole array of magics at your disposal to put me in my place.”

Jack smiles. “Oh? So next time you act like an ass I get to zap you with a little frost lightning?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Pitch says, very seriously. 

Jack laughs, feeling worlds lighter. He pulls his chair over to Pitch’s, ignoring the sound of it scraping over the wooden floor. 

He looks into Pitch's eyes and feels himself relaxing, bit by bit. If he has Pitch's word, then he will trust it. Lifting a hand, Jack puts it to Pitch's cheek, feeling the warmth of him. Pitch turns his head so that he can kiss Jack's fingers. 

"Cold," he mutters, and Jack smiles. 

"You _like_ my cold."

"That I do," Pitch says, and kisses him. "I like everything about you."

Jack's smile collapses. "Oh yes. I'm sure my army of issues and insecurities are most attractive."

"They're part of you." Pitch kisses him again, and his warm, warm hand ducks under Jack's tunic. "But you will heal, Jack. Think how far you've come already."

With Pitch's fingernails scratching softly down his sides, it's hard to think of anything at all, save for how shiveringly good Pitch makes him feel; even so, it is immediately obvious how much better his life is now than it ever has been before. He hums his agreement and slides his hands to the back of Pitch's neck, pulling him closer. It's tricky, though, being in separate chairs like this, not at all the ideal location for kisses. 

"You know, I think the bedroom would be much more comfortable," Jack says, and Pitch chuckles. 

"I think you're right," he says, and in one smooth movement he stands and has Jack in a princess carry. Jack giggles and kisses his cheek as Pitch carries Jack into the bedroom like a hero rescuing a damsel. Which isn't so far from the truth, Jack thinks as Pitch lays him down on the bed. Grabbing Pitch's lapels, Jack pulls him down on top of him and they resume their kissing session. 

Jack was right; this is _much_ more comfortable.

Those warm hands continue their exploration of Jack's body, and clothes are discarded as they get in the way. Warm lips join the hands as Pitch leaves a trail of kisses over Jack's chest and belly, returning to suck a bruise onto his neck as his hands tug at the fastening of Jack's trews. With less decorum Jack tugs frantically at the buttons of Pitch's shirt. 

"Off," he says, and Pitch pulls back instantly, eyes wide. 

"What's wrong?"

"Not you off me, _shirt_ off, trousers off."

Relief floods Pitch's face and he quickly follows Jack's command. In moments both of them are naked, their clothes cast carelessly about the room. 

Pitch pauses just for a moment, his eyes roving Jack's body, and then he pushes his thighs apart so that he can lie between them. 

_Oh,_ Jack thinks, and his breath catches as Pitch takes his cock in hand and strokes him into full hardness. And then, after a glance up at Jack and a flash of a grin, he licks at the head of it. Jack gasps then. So hot - not painful but _good_ , and he sinks deeper into the mattress as Pitch works, exploring every inch of him. He moans, shivering, throwing his head back. He grasps the headboard, Pitch's shoulders, handfuls of bedsheet. He feels-

He feels like he's caught in the winds near the Lunanovan encampment, not quite in control. He needs - something - to ground him. As Pitch's lips slide down his cock, Jack yelps and grabs the headboard again - and realises what it is that he needs. 

"P-Pitch," Jack stammers, and Pitch pulls back immediately, his eyes darting up to Jack to make sure that he's alright. "Do you remember the first time you did this to me?"

"Vividly. It's one of my favourite memories."

Jack smiles at him, and wonders how much he's teasing, how much is truth. From the soft smile on his lips, Jack dares to think it might be mostly truth. 

"It's just - this reminds me of that. And-" He pauses, licks his lips. Then he releases the headboard and and draws his hands down to chest level. He looks at his wrists, and then back up to Pitch. He tries to force the words, but they won’t come. He lets his head fall to the side, so that he doesn’t have to look at Pitch. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Pitch says, grasping Jack’s wrists and pinning them above his head as he kisses him _most_ thoroughly. Jack gives a shivering moan and Pitch pulls back with a gleam in his eye. “Ah, I see - do you want to be bound, Jack?”

“Y-yes. But - it's not really proper for a king’s betrothed to be bound in shadows, is it?"

Pitch blinks. "What do you mean?"

"Well - it's something for courtesans, isn't it? A sort of very pleasant reminder of their place."

"No, Jack." Pitch shakes his head and starts to stroke Jack's inner thigh, making him shiver and making it hard to concentrate. "It's nothing to do with your status. All that matters is whether you like it."

"Really?"

"Really. Karine used to do it to me; if a king can be bound then a consort-to-be may as well."

"Wait - she bound _you_?"

With a grin, Pitch scrapes his nails gently down Jack's inner thigh, making him yelp. "Oh yes. Often. I can be quite flexible, you know."

Sudden images of Pitch beneath him, wrists bound above his head, flicker through Jack's brain, and his cock throbs in response. "Is that so," he breathes, pushing the images away for later perusal, at length and in detail. "Perhaps we can explore that flexibility sometime. But for now - will you bind me?"

"Of course." Pitch leans over Jack so that he can kiss him. As he does, he draws Jack's hands above his head, close to the unfamiliar headboard. Jack's attention flows between the two, between the feeling of Pitch's hands around his wrists and how that makes him feel deeply safe, secure; and the way that his kiss makes him tremble and want more, want that mouth elsewhere. He feels the whisper of shadows against his skin and he tenses, expecting memories to assail him of shadow men surrounding him, of being dragged through the shadows by Seraphina's coerced magic. But there's nothing other than the gentle strength of the shadow bonds, and the sweet memories of the other times they've played like this. Jack sighs and feels the tension drop away. He relaxes into the bonds and feels _right_. This is where he belongs, courtesan or consort. 

"We belong together," Jack murmurs, lips brushing Pitch's. 

"Yes."

They pause, not kissing, just feeling, the moment wrapping them in its significance. Jack relaxes even further, like he could melt into the bed, and he smiles. 

"Weren't you doing something? I think you should get back to that."

Pitch chuckles and kisses him again, brief and wet. "As you wish, Jack." He kisses his way down Jack's body, across the sigil-scars, biting his nipples, licking the lines of his hips, but when he gets to Jack's cock it seems that all ideas of teasing are quickly swept away. Wrapping a hand around Jack's cock he licks at it, the other hand cupping and lightly squeezing his balls. Jack gives a shuddering moan and lets his eyes fall shut as Pitch takes the head of his cock in his mouth, the warmth of it almost overwhelming. And then he takes him deeper, deeper, and it is all Jack can focus on, that and the shadow rope around his wrists, holding him safe. He whimpers as Pitch takes the entire length of him in his mouth, and all he can think as Pitch moves, taking him deep again and again, is _yes_.

The pleasure winds ever upwards and Jack is shaking, gasping for air, pulling against his restraints but not wanting to be freed. He wants this to last forever but he wants to come, he wants Pitch to come. His thigh shakes, he bites his lip; the air is full of the indecent noises of Pitch's mouth against his slick skin and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Everything is too warm but in a good way. It consumes him, eats up his thoughts like a fire devouring fuel, and he can only lie there, gasping, back arching from the bed, as the pleasure grows bigger and hotter, suffusing his body, right down to his fingertips and toes. He feels like he's going to explode, he can see stars bursting behind his closed and creased lids. He needs to come, he feels like he's hunting down his climax, and every slick sound from Pitch brings him one step closer to his quarry, so close-

And then he comes, screaming, as pleasure bursts from him, onto Pitch's tongue. His whole body shakes as he comes and he strains against the bindings, is pleased when they hold, hold him safely in place so that he can't go shooting off in a hundred directions. 

"That was good, Jack," Pitch murmurs, voice soothing, approving, and he is by Jack's side now, holding him, still so warm. The arm across his stomach feels like a stripe of sunlight and Jack sighs at the comparison, smiling and sinking deeper. He feels like he's floating in a pool of warm water, safe and blissful. He opens his eyes to see Pitch, dark hair falling into his silver-golden eyes, looking at Jack, making sure he's alright. Jack sighs and smiles and settles. 

"I love you," he says, and it makes Pitch smile brighter than almost anything Jack's ever seen. 

"Even after everything that I've done to you? The way I treated you?"

"Even after," Jack agrees. "Kiss me," he commands, and Pitch obeys. Jack can taste himself on Pitch's tongue and he shivers pleasantly. "Now you," he tells Pitch. "Pleasure yourself. Come onto my stomach."

Pitch's lips quirk slightly, a smile. "That’s an order I will gladly obey." Staying where he is, resting on his side, he starts to stroke himself. He's already fully hard; he has always liked using his mouth on Jack. He uses quick, even strokes and is breathing hard in moments. Jack gazes down, drinking in the sight of long fingers wrapped around his grey cock, of the way his thigh muscles tense under his skin, and then at the way his seed arcs over Jack's belly before pooling over his hip, almost scalding hot as Pitch grunts through his climax, continuing to stroke himself until the last of his seed pools against his own fingers. Pitch looks at him through lidded eyes and, breathing hard, lifts the hand to Jack's mouth. Very willingly, Jack laps at the warm stickiness there, tasting Pitch, a taste that is for him alone. They gaze at one another as Pitch's breathing slows. Jack feels like his heart is expanding, crushing his lungs until it's hard to breathe. Pitch who loves him, Pitch who wants him. Pitch, who will be his husband. It seems so unreal. All politics aside, at its heart this is a matter of love, and Jack smiles at Pitch. 

"Untie my hands," he says, and as the bindings slip away, he slides his arms around Pitch's neck and shoulders, pulling him close. 

"I love you so much," Pitch whispers, his lips brushing against Jack's shoulder so that he can feel it as much as hear the words. "I will never hurt you again. You have my word. And I will destroy anyone else that tries to."

"Good." It's all he can manage, the rest of his thoughts splintering and floating like embers in the dark. At some point Pitch manages to pull away for long enough to clean them up, to pull the covers over them, but when Pitch is in his arms Jack lets sleep take him.


	28. Chapter 28

The next day, morning and afternoon are spent in discussions with the northern council. Pitch has decided to stay away from Tarr for the moment, and Jack doesn’t doubt that is a wise decision. While Pitch is in his meetings, Jack chooses to wander the castle with Worric trailing after him, exploring great, cold halls and smaller rooms. Upon finding the armoury he asks Worric to fence with him; he agrees though only with wooden swords and even then he’s obviously letting Jack win. Still, it’s fun, and overall it is a much more enjoyable day than the one before. 

After returning to Pitch’s rooms for a lunch brought by a silent, much-bowing servant, he spends the afternoon alternating between reading and napping. He considers going out to explore the grounds, but another venture out onto the balcony soon dismisses that idea. They’re cloaked in fog once more and look less than inviting.

Pitch returns in the afternoon, and wakes a snoozing Jack with a kiss, telling him that they are ready to leave. 

“One of the councillors offered some of his son’s clothes for you to wear,” Pitch says, and offers Jack a pile of folded fabric. 

Since he is wearing an oversized outfit borrowed from Pitch’s wardrobe, Jack changes: there are velvet trews in a rich navy blue, and a soft, white tunic with golden edging. Though it fits better than Pitch’s clothes, it’s too baggy around the waist and it shows a few inches of wrist, but these are obviously the boy’s finest clothes so Jack doesn’t feel like he can say anything. Besides, a long silver-grey cloak covers most of the outfit, even if the brooch that holds it in place would be ostentatious even by Lunanovan standards.

It is fine as a temporary outfit, and there’s no time to look for anything else. They’re heading to the travel circle; now that things have been discussed with the northerners, Pitch wants to return to the palace as soon as possible so that he can speak to his councillors before the Sinarans arrive tomorrow. There are still many questions about what their aims might be in coming so quickly, without even asking for leave. Questions too about etiquette and attitude, even about how to receive them and where to house them. 

As they head towards the entrance hall to meet the rest of their group, Pitch smiles down at him and takes his hand.

“You can change into something more comfortable as soon as we’re back at the palace,” he says, and then his smile widens. “Or nothing at all, if you prefer.”

Jack bites his lip against a saucy response, for they have reached the stairs that lead down to the hall. From their elevated position they can see the others: Aleksis, wrapped warmly in a fur cloak, talking to Alden who looks tired and severe. Onyx is sombre and unsmiling, all in black and very still, gazing into the distance deep in thought. The guards from Dun Doras are there too, along with Worric. All of them look up as they hear Pitch and Jack’s footsteps upon the stairs.

“Are we ready to depart?” Pitch asks. 

“Yes,” Onyx says with a nod. “As requested, Yarrow has been asked to meet us at the travel circle, and is ready to go south with you to aid you in your councils. Your kingsguard are watching over my- over Lord Tarr, until you decide what is to be done with him.” She pauses here, her eyes closed, and Jack’s heart hurts for her. After a deep breath, she continues, her voice even. “Your bags have been sent forward to the travel circle. I believe that’s everything?”

“Yes. Thank you, Onyx. Let us go.”

The group steps outside into the grey afternoon, and fog hangs heavy in the air. It’s a miserable day, and Jack feels it weigh down on his spirits. There isn’t much chatter as they walk, ringed by the guards. They are wary of saying anything that could be overheard by civilians hidden in the fog. Most will know of Tarr’s treachery; it was a very public event after all. But his surrender was a private thing by all accounts, and hopefully it can be kept that way until Pitch decides what to do with him. Jack doesn’t envy him that decision, not in the slightest.

Not that there are many people around, from what Jack can see. Those that do walk the streets seem downcast and go about their tasks quietly. The weather seems to be robbing everyone of their vitality.

As they walk through the city the fog grows a little lighter as the sun breaks through the clouds, and Jack feels his apprehension lift by the time they approach their destination. 

The northern travel circle is in a large building in the east of the town, nestled amongst temples and chapels of all kinds. There are clearly a number of religions practised here. He saw nothing like this in his trips to Iscadin - only a shadow temple made from black stone. Considering the breadth of religions represented here in the north, there must be more in Iscadin as well. Here Jack glimpses stained glass; the windows are narrower than those of the south, but still the slices of colour are bright even in the gloomy day. On a white building he sees tall spires grouped together like inverse icicles. The most interesting is a sandstone building where instead of columns, statues of various gods line the outside. A slender man holding a book, a short woman with a sickle, a blindfolded man holding a pair of scales, and others. The statuary intrigues him. Given the Umbran aversion to accurate depictions of people, are these statues truly what they believe their gods to look like? Or like the statue of Pitch, have things been changed to make them less accurate?

It makes him realise how little he knows of religion in Umbra. Pitch doesn’t practice one, from what Jack can gather. He attends no weekly ceremonies and performs no daily prayers. There was the autumn equinox, and the courtesan ceremony – and there’ll be the betrothal, he thinks with a prickle of excitement. Other than that, none of the Umbrans Jack knows well seem to practice a religion. Is it rare here? Is Umbra a place of practicality rather than gods? His only real brushes with religion here have been with the Selenans and their insistence on calling him the moon god. As a consort-to-be, though, he should know more. Something to investigate later. Maybe he’ll ask Monty for help with his research; it’s been too long since they spent time together. 

The travel circle being placed in the temple quarter suggests a deep reverence for the circle and the mages, more so even than in Dun Doras. But then Dun Doras is only a few hours away from Iscadin on horseback. Norkyle is days away from the south, and cities are scattered thinly across the vastness of the north; the travel circle is of even more importance here.

As they approach the building, Jack sees how grand it is. When he arrived it was dark, and he was so intent on speaking to Pitch that he paid little attention to his surroundings. Now, he sees that it fits in easily with the grand temples around it. Huge stone blocks make up most of it, and it is easily twice the size of the Dun Doran travel hall. Sigils like those on the circle are carved into the wall above and around the door, and painted gold. The roof is gorgeous, covered in coloured tiles making zigzag patterns of blue, white and grey.

Onyx leads them up the steps and inside, to an atrium. Tall-ceilinged, it’s lit by torches and dozens of white candles. The scent of incense filling the air makes it seem even more like a temple. The smoke of it makes the space hazy, blurring the carved stonework and dark wooden panels of the walls. There are two people waiting for them, a man and a woman, dressed in almost-identical robes. A heavy white material, covered in sprawling embroidery picked out in silver thread and tiny golden beads. The only difference is that one of them has billowing sleeves with golden stripes around her wrists. The other has shorter, fitted sleeves. The robes are reminiscent of the Lunanovan priests, and Jack’s stomach stirs uneasily.

Both mages – for surely they must be – bow deeply to Pitch.

“Greetings, your highness,” the woman says. “We are honoured to serve you once more.” 

They turn to Onyx and she receives a shallower bow. Alden gets a respectful nod of the head, as does Aleksis. Jack gets long stares, then the two glance at each other before bowing to him, almost as deeply as to Pitch.

“And Prince Jackson. It is a deep honour to meet you properly.” She glances at his hair, at his eyes, and gives him a beatific smile before looking away and smoothing her smile back into a neutral expression. Jack is expecting her to start spilling words about the moon god, but she keeps them to herself and instead turns back to Pitch. “Your highness, we have made the preparations, and Yarrow awaits you inside. You can leave as soon as you wish.”

“Then allow us a few moments in private for goodbyes.”

Both of them bow simultaneously and then turn to leave, their robes swishing on the stone floor.

Pitch turns to Onyx, who looks at him solemnly.

“I know that there are a lot of things on your mind, but please try to choose a warden soon,” she says, with unusual brusqueness.

“I know your feelings about this position. I have some ideas, but it’s not something that can be chosen lightly. It might be months, Onyx, and I need someone I can trust until then.”

She stares at the floor, her lips thin, and nods crisply. “I understand. And I’ll take your suggestions as to the new council members into consideration.” Her words are clipped and she still refuses to look at him. Every single muscle looks tense, like she’s a statue herself. Jack hates that she must do this; it feels almost akin to his being sent down to the planet. She’s doing her duty, just as he was expected to do his.

“Onyx,” Pitch says, a pleading note entering his voice. “If there was anyone else that I could trust to do this, I would. You’ve been my advisor for years – you’re _family_. I don’t want to make you do this, but with your experience and your ties to the north, there isn’t anyone else.”

She looks up then, and sighs, shaking her head minutely. “I know. And I do want to help the northerners...” She trails off and then sets her jaw, straightening. “I will do this, and I will set a strong foundation for the new warden to build on. But please, Pitch. Choose soon.”

“I will.” They embrace with warmth and touch their foreheads together, just for a moment, before they step back.

She says her farewells to Alden and Aleksis, and then offers Jack a wintry smile. “I feel that we’ve barely seen each other since you got home,” she says. “And I regret that.”

“We’ll be able to spend more time together soon,” Jack says. “Once this is all over.”

She gives a grim smile, and then bows her head. “Let us hope that will be soon.”

As she leaves, the rest of them step into the travel circle hall. Yarrow is standing at the side of the room, leaning against a wall. When he sees them, he stands to attention. He gives Pitch a deep, sharp bow. It's clear from his tight shoulders that he's trying to control himself, trying to remain calm and wise as a councillor should be, but there's no way to prepare oneself for being summoned by your king. His long hair is pulled back into a braid that swings down over his shoulder as he bows.

“Your highness,” he says. “I am at your service, and most honoured to be so.”

“Excellent. Your counsel is required, though I’m afraid it will have to wait until we’re in the palace before we can discuss it further.”

“As you wish, my king,” he says, with a tremor of either nervousness or excitement in his voice; perhaps it is both. 

All of them gather in the travel circle, and more richly dressed mages approach to stand around them. It’s all too reminiscent of Lunanoff and Jack grabs Pitch’s hand. Their chant is more of a song than the Dun Doras mages, and their voices join together sweetly. As they start to circle the travellers, they song gets louder and louder, reverberating off the vaulted ceiling. Jack feels the magic grow and swell until it is a painful pressure in his temples. And then, when he feels like he can stand it no longer, it reaches a crescendo and they are pulled homeward. 

===

It’s late when they get back to the palace and Seraphina should be in bed, but the instant they step into Pitch’s rooms a small cannonball with long black hair barrels into Pitch, knocking him to the floor.

“Papa, don’t go away again,” Seraphina commands, her arms in a deathlock around her father’s neck, and then looks up at Jack. “You too,” she says, grabbing his hand and pulling with surprising strength until all three of them are a tangle on the floor.

Jack hugs the both of them, their familiar warmth a comfort, a homecoming.

“I can’t promise that,” Pitch says, hugging them back. “But I am glad to be home.”

“You can,” she says, and her lip quivers even as she turns a death-glare on her father. “You can promise. You’re the king, you can do anything.”

“If only that were true.” With a sigh, Pitch stands and offers both Jack and Seraphina a hand, helping them to their feet. “Monarchs have more responsibility than anyone, Seraphina. I have to look after not just you, but the whole of Umbra.”

“But aren’t I the most important one?”

“Of course,” Pitch says, and squeezes her hand, leading her towards his reception room, where Ravus leans against the door jamb, grinning.

“I’m glad to see that this amuses you, Ravus,” Pitch says.

“Indeed it does. And now that you’re here, I’m going to go to bed. Let you catch up with Sera; we can talk tomorrow.” She gives hugs and kisses to Seraphina, and then smiles warmly at Jack before leaving.

“I think it’s time that you were in bed too,” Pitch tells Seraphina, but she shakes her head, stubbornness flashing in her eyes. 

“I’m not tired. And you only just got back, I want to spend time with you!”

“An hour, then,” Pitch offers. Seraphina pauses, lips pursed, as if trying to decide if this is an acceptable response, and then nods.

“Will you read to me, Jack?”

He blinks down at her, startled, and then nods. “Of course, I’d be honoured.”

In the reception room, there are books and toys scattered across the tabletop. Seraphina takes one book, with a battered green cover, and hands it to Jack before settling onto the sofa. 

“You sit here, Jack,” she tells him, and pats the seat to her right. “And you here, Papa.”

Obediently they take their places, pausing as Ivor comes in to offer them refreshments; once they have steaming cups of tea made from herbs to promote sleep, Jack opens the book, and begins to read. 

Within three pages Seraphina is asleep, leaning against Jack’s side. Pitch picks her up carefully to put her to bed, and Jack goes to their own. After changing into his bedrobe, he gives a grateful look at the jar of dreamsand on the nightstand. 

When Pitch comes in, he stands behind Jack and slides his hands around his waist. After kissing the back of his neck, he stays still and silent. Jack rests his hand on Pitch’s hand, and leans back against him. They stand there together for a handful of breaths and then Pitch murmurs, 

“I love you, Jack.”

The confession makes Jack blink, in part because Pitch sounds so very tired. He turns to look up at Pitch, finding him looking weary. No, not only weary; it’s the he strain of the past few days: Lord Tarr’s betrayal and then turning himself in; the Lunanovan arrival and now the imminent arrival of the Sinarans. 

Jack reaches up to run his fingers through Pitch’s hair, to the grey streaks that are wider than when Jack first arrived. 

“I love you too, Pitch. And I’m here for you, and I will be every step of the way.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Pitch sighs, and Jack raises an eyebrow. “I would be happier if you stayed here, where you’re safe. I know you won’t, and I won’t ask it of you, but I would still be happier.”

Jack’s lips thin. Safety is something he’s had precious little of in recent months. “You’re right, I won’t stay here. This is my war, Pitch. As much or more than it is yours.”

“I know,” Pitch says, and leans down to kiss Jack on the lips, lingering and sweet enough to ease the wisp of annoyance that he felt. “And even though part of me wants you to stay here, another part of me wants you by my side, always.”

“I might not be very good at all this diplomacy business, but I’ll do what I can.” 

Pitch nods. “That is more than enough.” He yawns and then sighs. “Let us go to bed. Tomorrow will be long; we should rest while we can.”

===

In the morning, Ravus joins them for breakfast. Seraphina looks sleepy, rubbing her eyes often, and Pitch gives her concerned glances. Jack feels sleepy too, but he ignores it. They're going to meet the Sinarans today; he needs to be as alert as he can manage.

Ivor serves sausages and bacon, mushrooms and tomatoes, and pours their tea. Jack cools his so that he can drink it quickly, in an attempt to wake himself up; it doesn’t do much good. He lets a little frost spread down his neck and shoulders, under his tunic, and the cold does a much better job.

They're quiet as they eat, each of them caught up in their own thoughts. Jack's rest chiefly upon the outcome of today’s meeting, and what that might mean for this war against Ben. What if the Empress has no interest in helping them, or even allowing them to fight upon soil which is technically still part of the Empire, for all Ben's control over it? But no; surely they wouldn't come all this way just to refuse. There must be something else. Jack dares to hope that it might be an agreement. If they have the Sinarans as allies, surely that will make everything easier. As little as he knows about war, he knows that there is strength in numbers.

"So what do you know about these Sinarans?" Ravus asks, pushing her plate aside.

"Very little,” Pitch says with a shrug. “The two ambassadors are named Esfir and Nyambe, important members of the Empress's court, or so the letter claims. They'll bring a small contingent of guards and a few other officials. Other than that, all the letter mentions is that they will bring gifts to honour me."

"Alden will be meeting them at the harbour soon," Ravus muses. "Why a small contingent, I wonder? From what I’ve heard about Sinar, they’re great fans of grand gestures and letting the world know of their wealth and power. I would have expected a whole battalion of them, covered in gems and gold."

"I’m not sure,” Pitch says. “For secrecy, or speed, perhaps. We’ll know more shortly; Alden will send a messenger as soon as the Sinarans have been transferred to the Royal Residence. Once we've received that message, we'll set off."

"And then what?" Jack asks. "A meeting with the ambassadors?"

"Things will be informal at first," Pitch says, and then sighs. "Since we're not exactly allies yet not officially enemies, it's a delicate thing. Lita knows most about Sinaran culture from her dealings with the traders, and she's suggested that we start with a lavish dinner. Sinarans like to be wowed by food, and see feasts as the greatest of luxuries."

"One of the main parts of diplomacy is grandstanding," Ravus says with a glance at Jack and a crooked smile. "You do everything you can to let the other side know how wealthy, how powerful you are. So they'll have their lavish gifts; we'll have our grand Royal Residence and wonderful meal."

"If you want to wow them, why not bring them to the palace?" Jack asks, but he knows the answer before he even finishes asking the question. Pitch's gaze falls upon Seraphina, who has abandoned the remnants of her breakfast and is drawing what looks like a dragon on a scrap of paper, bored by the talk of the adults.

"I do not trust the Sinarans, and I do not want them in my home," he says, somewhat bluntly. "And as far as we know, the spy is still in the palace. The last thing we need is to spark an international incident with one of the ambassadors being assassinated by this spy. No; the residence is grand enough, and safer. Since there are less servants there, Jethryn has been able to check all of them for Benard's spell. It's as safe as we can make it."

"I wanted to see a Sinaran," Seraphina says suddenly, looking up. "Amber's told me about them. She says they have feathery capes! I'd like to see that."

"Perhaps one day," Pitch says. "But for today, your safety is most important."

She bites her lip and frowns. "But you're coming back, aren't you?"

He nods. "I'll return through the shadows before you go to bed. Besides; it'll be safer for me and Jack to sleep here."

"This is all very complicated," Jack sighs, and Pitch gives him a thin smile.

"You have no idea."

They finish their tea and then Seraphina asks if they have time for a walk around the grounds. Pitch looks down at her and Jack is sure he's going to say no; but then Seraphina looks at him with those big golden eyes, and he nods.

"It will have to be short," he says, and she nods excitedly, running to her room to get her cloak and boots.

"I'll go to meet with the councillors," Ravus says. "I want to go through a few things before we leave."

Jack remains barefoot and without a cloak as they go outside, much to Pitch's disapproval; but if he has to wear such things when they meet the Sinarans, he can at least be comfortable now. Seraphina runs ahead to leave a trail of footprints in the snow, giggling as she goes. Jack smiles, her childish glee warming his heart. He reaches over to take Pitch's hand and they have a few moments of simple, quiet joy.

The arrival of the Sinarans, whatever they say, marks the beginning of the war to come. Moments like this will be rare. Jack feels his heart sink, nervousness about the future snaking through him, but he ignores it. If they will be rare, that's all the more reason to cherish them while he has them.

When they return to the palace, the guard salutes Pitch.

"Your highness, Councillor Alden's messenger has just arrived from Iscadin. He is awaiting you and the councillors in the council room."

"You've sent for them?"

"Yes, your highness. Yarrow and Lady Ravus also."

Pitch nods and holds Seraphina's hand a little tighter. "Let's get you back to your room," he tells her, and though she frowns, she doesn't argue.

"Can Amber come and sit with me? I can help her with some sewing."

Pitch tells the guard to send for Amber as well, and she arrives only a few moments after they do, a basket full of folded cloth in her hands. Just as when she dressed them this morning, she looks tired, a dark circle beneath her eye and her hair tied back simply. She still gives Seraphina a warm smile as she goes over to the table in the reception room to set down her basket.

"I've been told you want to help me with some embroidery," she says, and Seraphina nods.

"Papa and Jack and Onyx and Grandma are all doing important things, I want to help too."

The mention of Onyx sets a pained crease in Amber's forehead, but she nods and smiles. "I know just how you feel."

"Thank you, Amber," Pitch says. "I know this isn't your job, but I appreciate your help."

"Not at all," Amber says, and raises one eyebrow at him, before adding pointedly, "After all, she's family."

She and Pitch look at each other for a long moment, and then Pitch inclines his head. "Indeed."

Jack looks from one to the other. Clearly they're talking about Onyx; clearly Amber doesn't approve of her situation. Neither does Jack, in truth, but he understands why. No doubt Amber does as well, but her closeness to Onyx makes things more difficult for her.

"We'll be back soon," Pitch says, and takes Jack's hand.

As they step out into the hallway, he shakes his head. "I hate doing this to Onyx - to them. But I have no choice."

"I know," Jack says quietly, and squeezes Pitch's hand. "I know."

Everyone else is already awaiting them when they arrive in the council chamber. The councillors sit around the table, along with Yarrow, who still looks like he can’t believe this is happening. A lowborn woman that Jack doesn't recognise stands at the side of the room, hands behind her back. This must be the messenger; she's dressed in her riding clothes still, save for the thick fur cloak that's draped over cabinet beside her. Pitch and Jack take a seat, and Pitch tells her to begin.

"Yes, your highness,” she says with a swift bow. “Councillor Alden sent me to tell you that he has met with the ambassadors from Sinar and their retinue, and that they have arrived safely at the royal residence. They have brought many gifts for you, and one of them especially the councillor asked me to tell you about. It's a prisoner, known to you. The farspeaker Rikka."

Jack's stomach tightens and then twists, the sudden memory of her entering his mind and controlling it flashing into his head as vivid as a painting. The emotion comes with it too, and for a moment it is all Jack can do to sit there and breathe through his nose, trying to stave off the panic that is trying to settle over him.

"How did they capture her?" Pitch asks, his voice tight. Jack reaches for his hand and squeezes it; Pitch squeezes back.

"While she was sneaking into their borders, a group of soldiers spied her and caught her. Councillor Alden says that they have questioned her, and decided that she would make a fine gift for you."

Pitch's lips thin. "I suppose it's too much to hope that they only questioned her about her connection with Benard."

"She wouldn't be too high a risk," Lita says. "She was never privy to your councils-"

"No, but she is a powerful farspeaker - who knows what secrets she uncovered with her magic?" Pitch sighs and shakes his head. "No matter. They have questioned her and so shall we. I want to know everything she knows about Benard and his plans."

"Councillor Alden also wished me to tell you that with the Sinarans came representatives from Santoff Claussen," he messenger says, and Jack's anxiety about Rikka ebbs as he sits up straighter.

"Is it Nightlight?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know. The councillor didn't say."

"We'll find out soon enough," Pitch says. "Is there anything else?" Pitch asks the messenger, and she shakes her head.

"Only that everything is now prepared, and that when you are ready you can come to the city."

"Thank you, then. You're dismissed."

She bows deeply and grabs her cloak before leaving.

The councillors discuss the news, but all Jack can think about is the possibility of seeing Nightlight again, and Rikka. The thought of her makes him feel cold, makes fear ricochet through him; only the crystal in his pocket, the one that reminds him of NIghtlight’s magic, keeps him anything close to calm. 

Thinking of Rikka - of her in his mind, forcing his actions down in that dungeon - makes him think in turn of Riann. Of being held a prisoner in the torture chamber, of being beaten - and then of the heat, of her threat of branding him. Holding onto the crystal more tightly doesn’t help this time, and in the middle of a speech from Lita, Jack mutters _excuse me_ and runs out into the hallway, his chair thumping to the ground behind him. 

Now that he’s alone he lets himself sink to the floor, leaning against a wall, and cools the air around him with his magic. 

_I’m safe, she can’t hurt me here,_ Jack thinks, his heart racing; his mind helpfully reminds him of the spy, and Jack throws frost lightning at the opposite wall to remind himself that he is no kind of weakling to be easily overcome. 

“Jack?” Pitch’s voice. For a moment, Jack keeps his eyes tightly closed, breathes through his nose. “Are you alright?”

Jack shakes his head, and manages to force a few words out. “Rikka. What she did to me- I don’t-” He licks his lips. 

“You don’t have to see her-”

“I do!” Jack says, glaring up at him. “I have to. I’m not a coward.”

“Oh Jack, I know. Of course you’re not. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. But you don’t have to see her-”

“I do.”

Pitch pauses, and then nods. “If you wish, Jack. And I’ll be there by your side. What else can I do to help you?”

“Just - hold me. Please.”

With a nod Pitch is instantly at his side, his arms warm around Jack’s shoulders. Jack’s magic makes Pitch shiver, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t hesitate at all. Just his presence is enough to help Jack, and after a few long moments, Jack feels as though he can do what he said - he can see Rikka. He waits a few moments more, until he’s sure that he’s pushed all memories of Riann and Rikka away, until he’s sure that he can act at least somewhat normal. 

“I’m alright,” he says, keeping his voice level. “I’m alright now.”

Pitch looks at him as though he very much doubts that, but nods. “Do you want to go back to our rooms?”

“No. I want to be at the meeting,” Jack says, adamant. The last thing he wants to do is be alone, where his memories can consume him. “I want to know what we can expect. I want to be involved.”

“As you wish,” Pitch says softly, and stands. He offers Jack a hand up and he takes it gratefully, glad of the assistance for the comfort it brings, not to mention that Jack’s legs aren’t entirely stable. 

They return to the council chamber and Jack listens rather than talks, holding Pitch’s hand tightly. He tries not to wince every time they talk about Rikka. 

It’s confirmed that Yarrow and Lita will go to the Royal Residence to meet with the Sinarans. There may not be much for them to discuss on this first day of talks, but it will be good for both parties to meet one another. As there will only be two Sinaran ambassadors, it’s decided that it is better to have a small number of councillors in the first instance. The palace is close enough that it will be easy enough for the rest to come if needed. 

“Then it’s decided,” Pitch says. “The four of us will go together with a number of the kingsguard. There we will meet Alden, who will introduce us to the Sinarans.”

Lita nods. “The letters state that the two ambassadors are high-ranking in the Sinaran senate, and should be treated with respect. However they will do everything they can to press upon us their superiority. Cultural, spiritual, intellectual, martial. Exaggeration is part of the Sinaran culture, and anything they say should be listened to with this in mind.”

“Good to know,” Pitch says. “Anything else?”

She spreads her hands wide in a gesture of uncertainty. “It’s hard to say. The Sinarans I’ve dealt with have been wealthy merchants who think of themselves as important people, but how they compare to people of _actual_ importance, I honestly couldn’t say. All I can advise is to let them lead the talks at first, until we have a better idea of what they want.”

There’s a little more discussion about how to deal with the Sinarans, but as Lita is the only one with any real experience of doing so, Jack and Pitch both look to her, watching for a nod or shake of the head, or even a skeptical expression. 

“If I may,” Yarrow says, and clears his throat. “I believe that the Sinarans must know things we don’t; and we know things they don’t. We both have things the others want. For example, Jack knows a great deal about Benard-”

“Jack is not talking about Benard,” Pitch snaps.

“No, I will,” Jack says quickly, though the fresh wave of panic belies the promise, and he amends it. “I should. It’s valuable information, and if we can get something from them for it, I will tell them what I know.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Pitch says, and squeezes Jack’s hand comfortingly. “For now, let us go. As Lita suggested, we’ll let them lead the talks at first and see what it is they’ve come all this way for. And then we will see where to go from there.” 

===

An hour later, they’re at the Royal Residence. Pitch takes Jack up to his rooms to ensure he’s alright, and Jack is grateful for it. Although _alright_ is pushing the truth somewhat, he’s well enough. He has his staff, which gives him strength, and he’s wearing a lovely outfit by Amber of heavy black velvet; breeches tucked leather boots, and a tunic fastened with silver clasps, and transparent, voluminous sleeves. That too gives him confidence; he looks like a prince, like someone who belongs at these discussions. 

When Pitch is sure Jack is ready, they go downstairs, to the great hall of the residence. It’s used for balls, mostly, from what Jack has been told, but occasionally for the purpose of greeting guests. 

As they step inside, Jack finds the hall is grand, but in no way in the scale of the palace. The floor is made of dark and light lengths of wood fitting together in an elegant pattern; the walls are an elegant grey with two parallel stripes of gold running around the whole room, an angular spiralling pattern running between them. Above their heads, a golden chandelier sits, and the ceiling above is a darker grey than the walls, golden moulding delineating the two.

At the end of the hall is a raised dais, on which sit two large chairs; both are made from carved, dark wood with golden cushions. Taking his hand, Pitch leads Jack to them. He sits on the taller one, and after a moment Jack takes the other. He doesn’t miss the significance: this chair is intended for the consort of the monarch. He glances at Pitch and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“You’re almost my consort,” Pitch says. “And it will put us in a stronger position if we show that Umbra and Lunanoff are united.”

Jack nods. He doesn’t mind playing the part of Prince Consort a few months early. 

Yarrow and Lina take their positions at the side of the dias, and in moments, Alden enters, coming up to speak with Pitch. 

He gives a brief overview of what the messenger said. “And the Sinarans are ready to be presented to you,” he says, and Pitch nods. 

“Then let us begin.”

Returning to the doors, Alden opens them wide, and gestures for those waiting outside to enter. 

They walk in, single file, like a procession. First comes a woman around Ravus’s age, with grey and black hair braided and pulled into a bun. Her skin is golden-brown and she has eyes that, even from a distance, are dark and sharp. She’s wearing an outfit that would make Amber swoon, high-collared with a hem brushing against the floor. It’s covered with embroidery, stylised clouds in pastel colours. The sleeves are very long, reaching down to her knees when she clasps her hands at her belly. Beneath she wears voluminous trousers made from pale yellow silk that makes Jack think of sunrise. Over that is a stunning feathered cape, as long as the robe. It is mostly made of black-and-blue feathers, with iridescent black-purple feathers at the shoulders. Together, it’s an incredible outfit. It’s as different as Umbran style is from Lunanovan. She is dressed up for the meeting, of course, just as Jack and Pitch and the others are, but it certainly makes an impression. One of elegance, of grace, and of riches. 

“Your highness, this is the Lady Esfir, leader of the Sinaran Senate.”

The lady lifts her hands with the palms together and bows at the waist. 

Behind her comes a very tall man with broad shoulders. He has dark brown skin and black hair cropped close to his head. His outfit is similar to Esfir’s, though green instead of yellow, and he wears several beaded necklaces around his neck. His cape is almost as magnificent as Esfir’s, but not quite as long and without the iridescent feathers. 

“This is Ambassador Nyambe, part of the Senate and a chieftain from Ita.”

He bows more deeply than Esfir did. Where she seems strict and solemn, he wears a smile, and his body language is relaxed and at ease.

Behind them come others, servants by their dress and simple capelets that are only edged with feathers. They have small chests in their hands, and are not introduced before they move to stand behind Esfir and Nyambe. 

And then comes a pair of servants, both of them with a rope in their hands, leading a bound Rikka. Her hands are tied and a heavy metal collar is wrapped around her neck, but just the sight of her is enough to fill Jack with panic-

Until his panic instantly breaks up, the fear fading into the background. It’s so abrupt that it must be magic, and it’s a magic that he recognises. 

Jack smiles as the owner of that magic steps into the room: Nightlight. Jack feels the weight of Pitch’s glance and stays silent, stays where he is, for all that he wants to run down and embrace his friend. 

Compared to the Sinarans, Nightlight looks drab in his simple black trews and tunic, or he would if it wasn’t for his pale glow. Looking at him, Jack can’t stop himself from smiling; when Nightlight notices he smiles back, and the two of them grin at each other for a moment before managing to wrest control of themselves. This is a very important meeting after all - but Jack will make sure that he and Nightlight catch up properly later.

“Nightlight, of Santoff Claussen,” says Alden, and then as a familiar brunette in a red tunic and voluminous red trousers takes her place by Nightlight’s side, “And Katherine, of Santoff Claussen.”

When all of the visitors are in the room, Alden strides over to stand before Pitch. 

“You are in the presence of His Royal Majesty, Lord of Shadows, and Ruler of Fear: King Pitch, the first of his name; and Prince Jackson of Lunanoff, his bethrothed. And these are my fellow councillors, Lita and Yarrow.”

The Sinarans bow again, and after a pause, so do Katherine and Nightlight, though Jack catches Nightlight’s grin. 

“It is a great honour indeed to be in your royal presence,” Esfir says, her voice crisp and richly accented, her Rs sounding almost like Jasper’s purrs. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“It has been many years since there has been any communication between our countries,” Pitch says. “So I confess to being somewhat surprised by the swiftness of your arrival.”

“We of the Sinaran Empire pride ourselves on acting swiftly when the circumstances call for it, and they do now, more than ever. We know of Benard’s presence in Vonnya-”

“Indeed we do,” Nyambe interrupts in a deep, sing-song voice, and receives a glare from Esfir. “But first, let us honour our hosts with gifts.”

The gifts are as grand as expected: one of the chests contains cloth-of-gold - Jack is sure that Amber will be delighted with that. Another contains sparkling gems that seem to change colour with movement. A third is full of the glowing mineral that is used so often in Umbra as a light source, though these shine brighter than any Jack has seen. And then another servant steps forward, gives a deep bow, and offers his silk-wrapped package to Esfir.

“This is a gift made on the Empress’s orders,” Esfir tells Pitch, carefully unwrapping it. “To show you her respect, and as a mark of the burgeoning friendship between our peoples.” 

She hands the silk wrapping back to the servant, and reveals the gift: It is a feathered cape, floor length and almost entirely black, save for a golden chain to fasten it. It’s incredible, and Jack is sure that it is of special significance; it’s too grand to be anything but. 

“It is extremely beautiful,” Pitch says. “Please convey my sincere thanks to the Empress.”

Esfir nods, and Nyambe steps forward. “We do not give our capes to outsiders lightly, especially not one so magnificent; but our best gift to you is this,” he says, and takes the ropes from the servants leading Rikka.

Jack sucks in a breath, and Rikka looks up at him from her bruised and swollen eye. She doesn't look angry, or afraid, or guilty. None of the things that Jack might have expected, had she regretted what she'd done. Instead she looks only tired, endlessly tired, like she's having trouble keeping her eyes open. Indeed her head droops, and she blinks rapidly as if trying to clear the weariness away.

Still, wariness spears Jack and he sits straight, feeling frost-lightning dance under his fingertips where they rest on his staff, ready to arc out should she act. 

"She is a precious gift, is she not?" Nyambe says with a smile. 

"She is a traitor," Pitch says, eyes narrowed.

"Indeed - and a traitor returned is a source of much information. Especially when said traitor is a farspeaker who has always been underestimated by friend and foe alike."

"Does she count anyone a friend? She betrayed me, betrayed Benard - is she loyal to anyone?"

"Myself," she says, lifting her head and turning tired eyes on first Pitch, then Jack. "I do what is best for me. And now, my best hope of surviving the week is to tell you everything I know."

"Even assuming you're telling the truth about what you heard, what's to say that you weren't told false?"

"For most, my magic could tell truth from a lie. Benard and Riann, I couldn't read so easily, but whether their words were true or false, I'll tell you and it can be your judgement to make."

After a moment, Pitch nods. Jack wants to grab his arm, to beg Pitch not to trust her. To remind him that it was she who plundered Seraphina's mind and forced her to use her magic. Whatever costs Seraphina must pay for that are tolls that Rikka exacted.

"Have her taken to the city jail, and watched closely," Pitch starts, but Nyambe shakes his head. 

"Ask her here. She has no secrets we do not know."

Pitch stares at him for a long time, long enough that Nyambe's smile falters and he turns to Rikka as though that was his own choice, that he didn't do so only to look away from Pitch.

"Tell him, farspeaker. Tell him what you know of Benard's plans."

"I know that he isn't done with Jack. If he can get his hands on him, he will." Jack feels disgusted, his lip rising to bear his teeth. He thinks about the dream, about Ben touching him, and then of having Riann’s hands on him, punching and hurting-

Desperately he grabs for Pitch’s hand, trying to gain some control over himself, to find something to counteract the memories. 

“He is never getting his hands on Jack again,” Pitch says with heat simmering in his voice. “What else do you have to tell me?”

She speaks slowly, haltingly, as though the words are hard to form. Jack wonders what's wrong with her. Perhaps it's the collar. If it binds her magic, it might affect other things as well. "Yes. I know - I know who the traitor in your palace is."

Jack squeezes Pitch's hand, to comfort both of them. He feels his own heart racing. The traitor in the palace is almost single-handedly responsible for Jack's own kidnap. For Kal’s death, too, Jack thinks, and he notices the tension in Alden's body on the other side of the room. Whoever they are, they must be stopped, whether they know what they're doing or not. _Especially_ if they don't. A person making the choice to do these things might be stopped by their own conscience. Take the choice away, and nothing can stop them.

Which is why Ben did it, Jack realises as nausea wells in his stomach. It's not just to protect himself from possible traitors and people who judge their own needs to be greater than his, but from people's consciences.

"Then tell us," Pitch says, his voice unnaturally calm.

Rikka doesn't reply straight away, but closes her eyes. Long, silent moments pass. 

“Answer him,” Nyambe says, and Rikka’s eyes fly open. She stares at the floor before her feet, and then up at Pitch. Still she takes a deep breath before answering.

"Monty. The young librarian."

Everyone in the room goes still. Jack plays the words in his head. Again. He can't bring himself to believe them, to accept them.

_No._

Monty is kind, and pleasant. Shy and sweet. He could never do enough to help Jack. He _admired_ Jack.

And yet... As librarian, he would have reason to go all around the palace. If he had books in his arms, no-one would question him. He could go anywhere, do anything. With such unrestricted access to the palace library, perhaps he'd know secret ways, too, passages and walls no-one else would know of. Places to listen; places to see things he shouldn't see.

_But he's my friend_ , Jack thinks, his heart aching. _He's my friend._

_Why,_ Jack thinks, but he knows the reason. Because Ben is selfish, and wicked, and cares nothing for anyone else. What does he care if some random boy in Umbra is _good_ or not? If he can be marked, and controlled, if he can be a tool,then what matter is it to Ben what kind of person he is? Better if he is a good person, all the better to get close to people.

Jack pulls his staff in front of him, wanting to point it at her; he holds himself back but he can’t stop a couple of sparks of magic spiralling up it. The world is blurred by tears, by how _unjust_ everything is.

It's not fair. It's not _fair_.

His fingers grow limp around his staff, and his head drops; he bites his bottom lip against tears.

"Lita, send a messenger to the palace and have Jethryn check the boy for sigils."

"And if he finds them?"

"Have him put in the dungeon."

"Pitch," Jack gasps, and stares at him as Lita goes to send the message. "If he was forced - if it wasn't his fault-"

"If he has the sigils and can be controlled by Benard, I can't have him free in the palace. Who knows what Benard would have him do? No, Jack. I'm sorry. We can consider our other options later, but for now he must be contained."

It's the right thing to do. Jack knows it is. But it's _hard_.

"I am sorry for such sad news to come like this," Nyambe says. "But if you can get the traitor where he can't hurt anyone, well. This makes our gift a most useful one, does it not?"

"Yes. I am sure she can tell us many more important things as well."

"She can. And so can we."

“Good to hear,” Pitch says, and pauses; when Jack looks up at him, he can see how tight his jaw is. “Let us go to dinner, and afterwards we can talk.”

“Actually, our request is brief,” Esfir says, stepping forward; her footsteps echo in the near-empty hall. “I would prefer to say it now and let you think upon it. It is an invitation to Sinar, to speak to the glorious Empress herself, and to discuss these matters with her directly.”

Pitch looks at her in silence, before leaning forward in his chair. “And she could not come to Umbra because…?”

“The Empress does not leave the Empire!” Esfir says, sounding scandalised, but Nyambe hushes her.

“It is our culture,” he says easily. “I know it is much to ask for your royal majesty to come to Sinar, but that is why we brought the invitation in person. And the gifts that we have brought today - you will receive such things a hundred fold, if you come to Sinar, to show our thanks.”

Annoyance flashes over Pitch’s face - barely a second, and Jack sees it only because he is sitting so close and knows him so well. And no-one could blame him for being annoyed; in forcing Pitch to come to her, the Empress is clearly showing her arrogance, her surety that Pitch will drop everything and come to her. That she might be right is besides the point. 

Rikka is escorted to the city jail, and that makes Jack feel a little better, but only a little. After all, she is not the only one who will be sleeping in a cell tonight. Poor Monty, who might not even know _why_ he is being held; Jack can’t help but think that he doesn’t deserve to share the same fate as Rikka, even though he understands Pitch’s reasons. 

Still feeling heavy of heart, Jack follows the others into a dining hall with a long table running the length of it. It’s a grand room of dark wooden floors and tall windows lined with grey velvet curtains. Not as grand as the hall, but lovely nonetheless. Already Jack can smell the food, and it’s enough for his stomach to growl - in a quiet voice, thankfully.

He takes his seat by Pitch’s side at the head of the table, and then the feast begins.

It’s an excellent dinner, even by Umbran standards. Plate after plate of food is brought out, more than their small party could ever hope to eat. Tender meats and a plethora of delicious vegetables; rich sauces and piles of potato, buttered and roasted and mashed. There is wine and beer, that Jack drinks far too quickly until he notices that everyone else has only just started to sip theirs while he has finished a glass. A spinning head is not exactly what is needed for such an important dinner, not even if the alcohol helps to numb his aching heart. He slows down after that and concentrates on listening.

Nyambe is full of interesting stories, though even Jack can’t miss the political meanings behind them. They are all about how wonderful Sinar is, how full of riches and skilled people. It is surprising how often their armies play starring roles in these stories - strong armies, of course, fiercely loyal and protective of their people.

Lady Esfir sits silent for the most part, and Jack wonders if that’s amusement that he sees sparkling in her dark eyes. Though she is the leader of the Sinaran senate, she seems happy to let Nyambe lead the conversation. But then, he is a talented storyteller, drawing everyone in with his charisma and charm. 

Nightlight, of course, says nothing, and Katherine interjects occasionally with a few stories about Santoff Claussen.

Perhaps the blame belongs on hastily imbibed wine, but Jack tells a story of his own, comparing Lunanoff with Umbra, and finding Umbra to be far superior. Without meaning to, he too seems to have found himself with a political bent.

“But your family, the Lunanovans - they are here in Umbra now,” Nyambe says, and Jack nods.

“They are. Thanks to Pitch giving them a safe haven, all the Lunanovans are safe here on the planet.”

“Your family - North, Bunnymund and Toothiana, yes? We have heard stories about your exalted royal family.”

“Oh?” Jack asks uncertainly.

“We have heard many things,” Esfir says in her velvet voice, breaking her silence and sitting up straighter in her chair. “In fact, we were very much hoping that when yourself and King Pitch come to Sinar, that they might come with you.”

Jack glances up at Pitch, who inclines his head, an acknowledgement rather than agreement. “If I decide to come to Sinar, I will put your request to them as well. After all, they are as involved in this matter as we are.”

“Indeed. The Empress is very keen to meet them. All of us as allies together will be an unbeatable force, don’t you think?”

“It’s something that we can discuss,” Pitch says smoothly, not quite agreeing as he tends to do when he’s playing ambassador. Esfir’s eyebrows lift slightly, as though she’s not used to being maneuvered like that, and then she nods, and smiles, and returns to silence.

While Nyambe returns to his stories of how glorious and powerful Sinar is, Pitch’s hand reaches beneath the table to squeeze Jack’s knee. Jack glances up at him, and receives a smile that makes him feel warm, and that’s only a little bit because of the wine. Despite everything else that has happened, Pitch is here; and while they’re together, they can face anything.

As the meal draws to an end, Pitch stands and thanks his guests, speaking airy words of friendship between their countries without making promises of any kind. He says he’ll be back to speak to them tomorrow, but again he makes no promises as to what they’ll discuss. It seems to Jack that this diplomacy thing involves an awful lot of ensuring that you sound as though you are being helpful, without saying any such thing. 

At the end of Pitch’s speech, Nightlight catches Jack's eye, and he excuses himself to go to him. As he walks over, he breaks into a smile. He can't help himself. Even though his and Katherine's presence here is far from a social visit, he's so glad to see him. After everything that has happened, despite all of the terrible, complicated things – even despite the horror of how they met – Jack is still glad to be able to spend a little time with his friend. Or perhaps _because_ of all the awful things. He knows now to cherish time with the people he cares about while he can.

“I hope you enjoyed dinner,” Jack says to them.

“We did, but we were wondering if you and Pitch might join us for an after dinner drink,” Katherine says. There's a serious tone in her voice that instantly sobers Jack.

“I'm sure we'd be honoured. Let me check with Pitch.”

When Jack tells him, Pitch frowns and looks over at Katherine, who looks carefully neutral. “She's part of the Sinaran envoy,” he says slowly. “It would be terrible etiquette to decline.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

Pitch smiles at him. “Considering you're a prince born and bred, you have little patience for etiquette - and subtlety for that matter.”

“That's because such things are needlessly complicated.”

Nyambe comes over then, and inclines his head to Pitch before turning to Nightlight and Katherine. “Are you ready to retire?” Nyambe asks.

“Actually, we would like to spend some time with Jack,” Katherine says. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen him, and we’d like to catch up.”

Nyambe looks at her with a raised eyebrow, and then breaks into a smile. “If King Pitch is happy with your continued presence?”

“Of course,” Pitch says, inclining his head. “Nightlight and Jack are close friends, and have been apart too long.”

“Ah, indeed. Our friendships must be carefully cultivated. Good evening to all of you. Once more, King Pitch, my thanks for the warmest of welcomes.”

Lady Esfir is waiting for him impatiently, and gives a jerk of a bow to Pitch. It seems as if they too have things they wish to talk about. 

When they are gone and their footsteps have faded, Pitch turns to Nightlight and Katherine, and looks at them quietly for a long moment. “I think we should retire to the drawing room, where we can talk in private.”

“Your councillors should come too,” Katherine says.

The drawing room is to the front of the house, and they sit quietly for a few minutes as servants stoke the fire and bring them wine and tea. With six of them in there it's a little cramped; Jack and Pitch share a small sofa, Lita, Yarrow and Alden sit at the small table. Nightlight and Katherine take the armchairs, and pull them closer so that they are all sat in a small circle before the fire. The residence guards are just outside the room, watching the door, and it feels like a clandestine meeting, even though they’re in Pitch’s own residence.

“Nyambe said many things tonight,” Katherine says. “And while none of them were _untrue_ , exactly, a number of them were exaggerations. I thought you would want to – _deserved_ to know the truth. After all, if you agree to this alliance, you should know who it is you're allying yourself with.”

Pitch crosses one leg over the other and takes a sip of his wine. “Exaggeration is the meat of politics and negotiation,” he says. “I can't say that it's a surprise. We'd do the same.”

“Perhaps,” Katherine says, and frowns. Jack shares her distaste. He'd rather things be straightforward. “Still. As we're from Santoff Claussen rather than Sinar, we don't have the same need to exaggerate. We've been dealing with the Empire for many years before Benard arrived, and we know a lot about them – good and bad.”

“We're grateful that you're willing to share this with us,” Alden says. “And any other information that you might have about Sinar and their customs that might be useful for us to know during negotiations.”

She nods. “I think the most important thing is that they've known about Benard for a while now. He's been meddling in Vonnyan affairs for years – I'm not sure how long, exactly. But Vonnya is the least important of the countries that are still part of the Empire, and so they let him meddle. They thought that he was just angling for a seat on their Council – this was back in the previous Emperor’s day. I don't think he and his advisors ever dreamed that Benard would try to take over the whole country.”

“That's interesting to know,” Lita says. “If they didn't stop an outsider trying to infiltrate the council – even if Vonnya was the least important to them – I think that might say something about the strength of their army.”

“Yes,” Katherine says. “There's a reason that the Empress wants you to join her. The army is still strong and well-trained, but it's a lot smaller than they imply. With so much of Sinar still tainted, the population is less than a third of what it once was, and so is the army. There's a possibility that they _could_ beat Benard without you, depending on how much support Benard has in Vonnya and beyond – but when they know how eager you are to take up arms against him, how could she not extend an olive branch?”

Pitch looks thoughtful. “Thank you. That will help me solidify Umbra’s position, and give us more leverage with the Empress.”

“So you are going to see her?”

“I think it would be a grievous insult to decline, and besides, I have to say that I’m curious to see Sinar.”

Lita and Alden look at one another, and Lita sighs. “Much as I would like to say that it’s too dangerous for you to go, the chance of winning the Empress’s favour is a valuable prize.”

“And if you do go, we’ll have to discuss who will go with you,” Alden says. "They must be able to protect you, as well as offer advice."

“If I may,” starts Yarrow. “Perhaps a few Selenans, with magic that can be used for defence.”

Pitch nods. “That sounds good. We’ll discuss it in detail tomorrow. But for now, I have had enough of talking and strategizing. I’m going to bed.” He stands, and nods. “Katherine, I thank you for your honesty, and for your presence. I’m glad to have our allies here.”

She bows her head. “We’re happy to be here.”

Jack stands too, but as soon as he does, Nightlight hugs him tightly. Jack doesn’t need to see Pitch to know that he’s glaring, his shoulders tight. A glance tells him that he’s right, but also shows him Pitch sighing and looking away. He isn’t going to react the way he did with Jamie, and so Jack lets the embrace last a few heartbeats more, drinking in the warmth of his friend, and his magic. 

Eventually, though, he has to step back, and they smile at each other. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” he says to Nightlight and Katherine; and to the councillors, too, for they’ll be staying in the residence rather than returning to the palace. 

Nightlight nods and Katherine smiles; the councillors each give him a weary nod. 

“We’ll talk in the morning; until then, try to have a good night’s sleep. I daresay we’ll need it.” 

There is a round of tired agreement, and then, their farewells said, Pitch takes Jack’s hand to lead him through the shadows to the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay with this one! I thought I'd have a lot of time to write/edit in December but... yeah, that didn't work out. Illness, family time, social events - you know how it is. And January's been kind of busy as well, seeing friends and having awesome times. But now I have nothing planned until April, so lots of time to concentrate on getting this beast of a fic finished! Thank you so much for sticking with me through this, I am determined to get it finished before the 2 year anniversary xD Thank you as well for all your kudos, comments and notes over on [tumblr](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Ohh, and make sure you check out the [latest fanworks](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/fanworks-of-my-fic-what) (both fic and art!) from some amazingly readers. Because seriously, TOO AMAZING. 
> 
> And also, if you haven't done so already, you might be interested in checking out Counterweight, the modern AU of this fic. It's most up to date [on tumblr](http://jackthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/84045131200/rotg-fic-counterweight-masterpost), but there are also a few chapters [here on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1716392/chapters/3656168) (that desperately need updating). 
> 
> And last, but certainly not least, infinite thanks go to my beta, [Impextoo](impextoo.tumblr.com), for the brilliant job. Any errors that remain are mine, and mine alone.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Drabbles Inspired by The Heavy Weight of Duty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/925994) by [Impextoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impextoo/pseuds/Impextoo)
  * [The one where Pitch is a little bit quicker than Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130111) by [RoseJennison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseJennison/pseuds/RoseJennison)
  * [A Mother Always Knows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607135) by [ADyingFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADyingFlower/pseuds/ADyingFlower)




End file.
